


The Fugitive

by thirdholmes



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Bounty Hunting, Canon-Typical Violence, Darksaber, Developing Relationship, Din is in love and bad at showing it, Drugging, Eventual Relationships, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Cobb, Injured Din, M/M, Mine collapse, On the Run, Organized Crime, Planet Tatooine (Star Wars), Post Season 2, Saving Mos Pelgo, Spice (Star Wars), Touch starved Din Djarin, Vigilante, accidental drugging, basically spice is bad, crime syndicate, mining syndicate, the helmet comes off, this is my post s2 therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28512069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirdholmes/pseuds/thirdholmes
Summary: After a heartbreaking separation and unexpected change of fate, Din Djarin finds himself on the run and returns to Tatooine in search of work, hoping to find work and a dose of elusive familiarity. What he doesn’t expect is for his new bounty to be an old friend. With Cobb Vanth now a wanted man and Mos Pelgo under the control of a criminal syndicate, Din must help him regain control over his shattered life while picking up the pieces of his own.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 91
Kudos: 175





	1. A Deadly Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beaten and tired, Din flees from an impossible situation and falls into old habits, searching for work and familiar faces on Tatooine, only to discover it might be much more than he bargained for.

“Offense! Parry- no, parry!” Bo-Katan roared, swinging the shaft of the beskar spear at Din’s head, only for him to block the strike with his forearm, eliciting a frustrated scream from the other Mandalorian. “Stop hiding behind your kriffing vambraces like a foundling and _fight me!”_

Her cry echoed into the rapidly darkening afternoon sky and came out with such raw force that it threw Din completely off guard, enough for her to land a kick to his shin that would have shattered bone without his armour on. The terrain of the planet Bo-Katan and her Nite Owls had set up base on was uneven at best and Din found himself stumbling as she advanced with her unrelenting attack, strike after strike flying his way quicker than he could even think to react. She swept a leg out and kicked a plume of dirt into the air, blinding Din’s vision for a brief moment, but it was all she needed to slam the shaft of the spear into his side, sending a fresh wave of pain lancing up his ribs even with the padding to protect them. 

For the past five days, Bo-Katan had been dragging Din out onto the rocky plain to run drills, and at the end of each session he limped back to the inn bloody, beaten, and that much more broken. Drills began at dawn, and by nightfall it had always somehow devolved into brutal one-on-one combat. The first day it happened, Din thought it was just another drill, but that was before she cut his arm so deep Koska Reeves had to cauterize the wound for him after. Bo-Katan insisted it was just practice so he could get a better handle of the Darksaber now that it was in his possession, but there was something different about the way she sparred that Din had never experienced with anyone at the coverts. Something that told him it was more than just drills.

He fought to disarm her. 

She fought like she wanted his head on a spike. 

And he wasn’t entirely sure it was only his imagination. 

Din barely had time to regain his breath before she took another swing at him and he blocked it with the Darksaber, a whistling song of ore and deep hum energy crying out a melody of battle into the air as the weapons made contact. Despite the black core, Din’s blade shone with an almost divine light that cut into the darkening day, the veins of white rippling like they meant to tear the sword apart in a blaze of violent glory. The Darksaber felt like power itself condensed into a single weapon, power that wanted to escape. 

Sparks flew and ignited a manic fire in Bo-Katan’s eyes that made them much too intense to look at, even through Din’s visor. The beskar spear began to glow an angry red from the prolonged contact, but Din didn’t let up, grunting as he pushed forward and threw the Mandalorian back several feet, clear out of the painted circle in the dirt. 

Bo-Katan crashed to the ground and quickly rolled, taking the energy of the fall and springing back to her feet like she’d never gone down, the new grit on her chipped blue armour and crushed dry plants showing the only evidence of her loss. 

In spite of the setting sun, her teeth flashed a brilliant white as she grinned at him. 

“There,” she said in her cool voice, panting almost imperceptibly as she adjusted her grip on the spear and began to circle him, searching out her next strike. _“That’s_ more like it.”

Every muscle in his aching body protested against the action, but Din feinted toward her left and, like a rancor scenting blood, Bo-Katan took the bait. She lunged with all her weight thrown into the strike, only for him to dodge and slam the hilt of the Darksaber into her jaw- hard enough to bruise, not enough to break. 

Her head snapped back with an audible crack and she stumbled, swinging out wildly with the spear as she regained her balance. In spite of the blow, Bo-Katan was still grinning, her teeth now stained crimson with blood. Din felt a flash of guilt at the angry mark beginning to bloom on her pale skin, but that was quickly extinguished as she spat a mouthful of blood in his direction, flecking his cuirass with red. 

“Is that the best you can do?” Bo-Katan tossed the spear between her hands, sneering. “No wonder you couldn’t keep your child out of Moff Gideon’s hands.”

She meant to antagonize him. It never worked, but it didn’t stop her from trying. 

What Bo-Katan didn’t know was that since that morning, Din had changed his strategy drastically. He wasn’t fighting to win like she wanted. He was fighting to lose.

He was fighting to get it all over with. 

Bo-Katan raised the spear, but Din went first, making certain his strike went wide, creating just enough of an opening for her to leap up with her jet pack and plant both feet into his chest in an immensely brutal kick. 

The cuirass absorbed most of the blow, but the force was enough to send him flying with a shout and Din landed heavily on his back outside of the painted circle, his own jetpack digging painfully into his shoulder blades.

Koska Reeves let out a peal of laughter from the crate she was perched atop of and took a long drag from her half empty bottle of spotchka, the blue alcohol glowing vibrantly in the dim light. 

Without thinking, Din’s grip tightened on the hilt of the Darksaber before he suddenly remembered his ploy and dropped it into the dirt as Bo-Katan approached him with the spear. The dark blade retracted as he held his gloves hands up in surrender, breathing heavily through the pain that was flaring up all across his battered body. 

_Over. It was over._

The Darksaber lay inert in the dust, harmless and abandoned. Or so Din hoped.

“You win,” Din managed roughly, his mouth tasting metallic and bitter as he spoke. “It’s yours.”

Bo-Katan’s face was flushed almost as red as her hair, chest heaving as she took in ragged breaths of her own, staring down at him with something close to fury. She raised the beskar spear and Din braced for the hit, but she just slammed the tip down into the ground, mere inches away from piercing his side. The dry soil split under the force, carving out a small crevice in the earth and the staff quivered as she stepped back, disgust marring her features as she surveyed the man on the ground before her. 

_“You’re pathetic,”_ Bo-Katan sneered, turning her back to Din like she couldn’t bear the sight of him anymore. “Is that what you think this is about? It’s not a _game,_ you fool.”

“I think-” Din gasped painfully as he agitated his bruised ribs by trying to stand, yanking the spear out of the ground to use as a crutch as he faced the enraged Mandalorian. “-it’s exactly what this is.”

“No, it’s _training_ .” Bo-Katan reached down and grabbed the Darksaber, thrusting it firmly at his chest, her eyes blazing with anger and temptation as she stared at the weapon in her hand. “You can’t afford to lose a fight to anyone, otherwise you lose this. I will _not_ have that happen.”

Din reluctantly took the weapon back, hating how familiar the weight of it was in his hand now. A pulse of pain shot through his ribs again and he hissed, leaning heavily on the staff. “You fight like you want it from me.”

Bo-Katan met his gaze evenly, drawing her shoulders back in a regal posture. “Because I do.” 

“Then why not _take it?”_ Din couldn’t hide the insistence and desperation in his voice as he held the hilt out to her as an offering, a surrender, the closest thing to supplication a Mandalorian could manage. 

Ever since he took the Darksaber from Gideon, Din could see the coldness in Bo-Katan’s face, her eyes shifting between frigid and fiery whenever they rested on the other Mandalorian. Each motion reminded Din of a predator ready to pounce, and the tension that radiated between them made him think she was trying her utmost not to gut him like a ghest at any given moment. 

When Gideon suggested that she kill Din and take it, he hadn’t been convinced that she wouldn’t do just that.

Din wasn’t sure she still wouldn’t.

He didn’t ask for the responsibility and power that came from possessing the weapon. It was clear Bo-Katan wanted it- no, she _craved_ it. There was a kind hunger on her face that was unlike anything Din had seen before, like she was a starving beast and this was the only thing in the galaxy that could sate her appetite. She sought after it since they met on Trask, and, from what he could tell, long before that. In a sense, it was her birthright. The complicated legacy of the Darksaber was one she felt belonged with her. 

So Din offered it to her. And for a moment it looked like she would take it. For a moment he prayed the temptation would finally win over, and even Koska leaned forward in her seat, looking on with interest. 

But all the heiress did was scoff.

“How little you know of your own history,” Bo-Katan’s voice was dangerously low as she leaned in close, her piercing eyes just inches away from his visor. “Your own culture. And you call yourself a Mandalorian.”

“Take it,” Din’s voice was much too close to pleading but he couldn’t find it within himself to care.

She looked down at the weapon briefly before her eyes flitted back up to his visor, her lips curling into a sneer. “You’re nothing but a pretender. Nothing but a Child of the Watch. It should have been me.” 

Din was playing his own game, but Bo-Katan was too. A deadly one. He knew she was hoping to rile him up enough to get him to strike at her. She was ready to defend her honor when the moment came. 

She was ready to kill him. 

All she needed was a good reason. 

All she needed was a good story. 

But he couldn’t give it to her. 

“Yes,” Din agreed solemnly, unable to contain the bitterness in his own words. “It should have.”

Bo-Katan scoffed again and turned away, heading back in the direction of the faintly glowing windows of the inn, leaving Din standing in the ring with the Darksaber still outheld toward the Mandalorian who neglected it. 

Turning her back on him was deliberate, and they both knew it. She held out her own misplaced hope that her attempts at goading him would finally come to fruition and provoke him to attack her. There was venom in her words, the poison of truth lacing each barb she plunged into his impervious armour. 

It didn’t matter that she believed every word she said about him. The insults were redundant. 

They weren’t anything Din hadn’t thought already. 

His shoulders sagged and his head fell forward, heavy with weariness. It wasn’t as if he could honestly say he expected anything more, but a small part of him dared to hope that this insufferable tension between them would finally be resolved. After five days, however, there hadn’t been any change. Din wasn’t keen on being around when things finally snapped, because if her violence during the so-called training sessions was anything to go by, the culmination of her silent fury was going to end with only one of them standing and either scenario left him with a significant problem. 

Death or damnation. Those were his options. 

But they didn’t have to be. 

It was then that Din decided to run. 

He wasn’t going to sit around waiting for Bo-Katan to make up her mind on whether she wanted to kill him or not, and he wasn’t going to be a pawn in whatever grasp for power she was searching for. Enough was enough. He wanted out.

Din needed a plan, and fast.

Not far from the front of the inn was Bo-Katan’s Mandalorian Gauntlet Starfighter ship sitting alongside a smaller A-wing Koska had picked up the day before. It was in dire need of repairs and Din wasn’t even sure if it was fueled up properly for him to even make it to the next system. Either ship meant he was going to have to travel sublight, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of options. He didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of taking a random person’s ship even though the thought of stealing Bo-Katan’s ship was enough to give him a headache, but he sighed, looking over at the starfighter. The last thing Din needed was another reason for Bo-Katan to gut him, but perhaps he could make an appealing trade. 

The Darksaber for her ship. 

Now all he had to do was make the switch.

Pain flared up his spine and Din winced, the motion aggravating several of what he decided were now bruised ribs.

_Maker above, he was going to need whatever bacta and water was on Bo-Katan’s ship if he was going to try and stay on his feet much longer._

Din looked to the side and saw Koska getting to her feet, stretching out her back as she did so, her bottle of spotchka still in hand. Half empty. And she wasn’t wearing her helmet.

 _Well,_ Din thought drily. _That could be useful._

He wasn’t going to get very far without neutralizing Koska Reeves. She was a good fighter on her own, but considering she was making considerable progress on that bottle of spotchka and had a decent target with her helmet removed, Din might actually stand a chance in his state. He was used to fighting while injured, but in order to overpower someone like her he would take whatever advantage was at his disposal. The second Din got the ship in the air, she’d run and tell Bo-Katan and they’d be on him like mynocks before he even cleared the atmosphere. It was imperative that he take her out.

Koska must have noticed him looking- rather, assumed he was looking- because she flashed a teasing grin in his direction, nudging the crate with her foot. “You want to sit down before you fall over?”

He huffed out a laugh and began to head toward her, using the staff almost like a walking stick, hunching forward even more. Better for her to think he wasn’t in any shape for a fight. As long as he looked less imposing, he’d be able to catch the Mandalorian off guard. “I think I need a drink.”

She eyed Din’s limping form and chuckled, holding out the spotchka to him. “Yeah, you look like it, vod. You might not believe it but I think Bo-Katan was actually going easy on you back there.”

“You’re right,” Din shook his head, smiling wanly beneath his helmet. “I don’t believe it. Here, would you hold this?”

Din pressed the Darksaber hilt into her other hand, taking the bottle of spotchka in his now free one. A look of brief confusion flickered across Koska’s face as she realized what she was given but that was all Din was able to see before he surged into motion, swinging the bottle into the side of her head. 

The thick glass didn’t suffer any damage from the impact, but the Mandalorian dropped like a sack of krill, crumpling unconscious onto the dirt. Glowing blue liquid sloshed out of the fallen container, quickly absorbed by the dust and dulling instantly. The Darksaber had fallen out of Koska’s hand, the hilt just shy of brushing her fingertips. She’d see it when she woke up and take it to Bo-Katan. By that time, Din would hopefully be long gone.

“I’m sorry,” Din said quietly, but the guilt was fleeting. He crouched to relieve her of the blaster on her belt and transferred it to his own, reaching over her for the pulse rifle she used during earlier training. “It’s nothing personal.”

Thankfully, Koska didn’t respond, and Din quickly checked to make sure she was still breathing before he stood, casting one last look down at her before gathering his breath and running for the Gauntlet. 

Every footfall punched a gasp from him and kicked up small clouds of dust from the dry ground, but he forced himself forward, ignoring every protesting injury in his body. Din only slowed down when he finally reached the ship and every motion was almost automatic from there, muscle memory taking him into action as he quickly familiarized himself with the controls and switched off the transponder before bringing the engine to life, taking off as fast as he could.

Once in the air, the two large grey and blue wings folded downward, lateral to the body of the ship. The sharp angles made it look like a menacing shard of glass that decided to transform into a starfighter, which oddly suited Bo-Katan. He didn’t much like the appearance, but seeing as it was fully fueled and ready to go he wasn’t in a position to be picky. 

Maneuvering the small ship was surprisingly harder than what he was used to with the Razor Crest, but Din thought he was managing decently as he brought it level and shot skyward. The dark sky quickly enveloped him and clouds shielded the planet below, each second putting more and more distance between him and the other Mandalorians.

It wasn’t until he broke the atmosphere that he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sagged against the back of the seat. Din tore off his helmet and it fell unceremoniously to the floor as he let out a frustrated yell behind gritted teeth, bringing his hands to cover his face. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he let himself go like this, the last time he let his composure drop to this level, but Din was tired. It went beyond the exhaustion in his muscles and bones and ran deeper into his being, lodging itself beneath his ribcage and infecting the rest of his body and mind. The kind of tired that sleep couldn’t fix, only feebly push away. 

For a man who, for most of his years, knew little beyond fighting and running, Din still couldn’t find himself to content with his lot in life. Complacent perhaps, resigned even, but not content. 

It didn’t feel good to have to run again. 

Run. Fight. 

But there was never any rest. He wasn’t ready to rule a planet, never mind retake it from the vice grip of the Empire. A planet of shattered glass would only cut him further, and Din already had his own wounds to deal with, both internal and external. 

He’d fought too much. Ran too much. Lost too much. 

Not too long ago, it could have been bearable. But now it felt like he couldn’t even breathe. 

So Din covered his face with his hands and continued to grit his teeth and release a muffled yell into the blind darkness, already feeling his neck and face grow warm from the strain, the rasping, mournful sound of his own voice terrorizing his own ears for a few moments longer. 

Just one rotation. That’s all he wanted. One day without bloodshed or bruises or pain. One day without looking over his shoulder. 

One day where he didn’t have to raise a blaster and didn’t have one aimed at him. 

He’d forgotten what that was even like. Peace. Calm. Rest. 

One day. A day he wasn’t going to get any time soon, if ever. 

Happiness had become more familiar with the child in his life, but now all Din knew was the cold clutches of misery.

For the first time in many, many years, he was without his own ship. The Razor Crest was ashes on a distant planet. The only belongings he had were what were on his body and cast on the floor, his only credits the few he had in the pouch on his belt. 

For the first time in ages, he was alone. He’d need to travel several sectors to see a friendly face and Grogu- 

Well, the kid was gone. Not permanently, but gone all the same. Gone to an unknown planet with a nameless Jedi and not much more information than that. 

The child’s departure still weighed heavily on his heart and there was not enough beskar in the galaxy to guard Din against the constant aching pain Grogu’s absence brought on him. There was a hollowness to him now, and at times he found himself foolishly wondering if there was anything left beneath the shell of his armour anymore. If there was anything worth salvaging. 

How could Din mend a broken planet when he was just as shattered himself? It was unthinkable. 

He swallowed back the lump of emotion that threatened to choke him and quickly blinked away the hot tears building behind his eyes, turning his attention back to the controls of the ship.

Thoughts for another time. 

In past life, perhaps, he would have chastised himself for taking the coward’s way out and fleeing from his fate, but that was not this time. Suddenly, Din had become the heir to the Mandalorian throne, and he wasn’t ready for that kind of responsibility. Bo-Katan was. That was the difference between them. One day, when he was ready, he would return to help their cause. He would help retake Mandalore, help revive his fallen home. But not like this. Not how things were now. 

Din couldn’t play by her rules any longer. He didn’t want this to be his fight. He didn’t want any of this. 

He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. 

He didn’t even know where to go.

And then he did.

Din needed something familiar to smooth the frayed edges of his tattered soul, and beyond that- given the low stock of supplies onboard- he was in dire need of credits. He needed work. 

Nevarro was unfortunately out of the question. Cara told the Mandalorians that was where she was headed, so it would be one of the first places they’d check for him if they ever decided to track him down. He wasn’t sure Bo-Katan would go to such lengths since the Darksaber was now abandoned and in her possession, but he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. It didn’t matter whether she thought it was illegitimately left with her or not, at least it was in her sight. Din wasn’t going to play prisoner any longer just so she could sleep at night knowing where the weapon was.

Still, Nevarro was out. There weren’t many planets in the Outer Rim that would suit his needs, but if there was any place in the galaxy with a reliable stream of activity for bounty hunters, it was Tatooine. 

And, if the navigation system was trustworthy, it was only a sector over. Din would be able to drop the ship at the hangar in Mos Eisley, find work, earn a few credits, and, well, if he was in need of a friendly face, Mos Pelgo might be worth giving a visit. Without the krayt dragon and peace now achieved with the Tuskens, perhaps the town would know peace now. Quiet. 

Rest. 

It was almost too perfect. 

Din punched in the coordinates without any further hesitation. 

———

_“This is Mos Eisley tower. Gauntlet, please respond.”_

The low voice over the comms jarred Din awake and he felt a brief rush of panic as he sat up and looked around, taking a moment to refamiliarize himself with his surroundings. 

The small cockpit was dim, only lit by a small, blue interior light and the intermittent blinking of a few buttons on the controls. After patching up his injuries with the small medpac onboard and putting his helmet back on, Din had managed to drift into an uneasy sleep, trusting the ship to get him where he needed to go. Normally he wouldn’t do such a thing while traveling sublight, but he was too exhausted to ignore his tired body for much longer. At least he didn’t feel like five different parts of his body wanted to fall apart anymore. Small mercies.

Given that the darkness of space was now occupied by a familiar celestial sphere of dull red and white sands, however, it seemed that things had strangely decided to go well for him. The engine seemed to have its own ideas about sleep as it appeared to have gone quiet as soon as Din reached the planet, leaving the ship hovering just outside the weak blue halo of the atmosphere. He must have slept through the arrival and was surprised the navigation system hadn’t succeeded in waking him with the beeping he now shut off. Slightly worrisome, but he decided it was not his problem right now. 

Blinking the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, Din reached for a switch on the controls and cleared his throat. “This is the Gauntlet, I’m receiving you.”

Radio static crackled for a moment before the operator responded. _“Gauntlet, we noticed you’ve been stalled for a few minutes now with your fuel light on. We recommend you land for refueling immediately, over.”_

 _Dank farrik._ Din leaned over the controls in search of the fuel gage and felt his stomach sink when he saw how low it had fallen. It was nothing short of a miracle that he even made it to Tatooine before burning through all of it. There was enough for him to make it to the hangar, but if he had any further to go he would have seriously doubted his prospects would be as they were now. 

“Requesting landing permission in hangar three-five, over,” Din waited as static crackled again, reaching for the controls to prepare the ship for entry. 

Peli’s rates were steep and he was definitely going to need to find work if he wanted to keep the ship in her hangar for however long he needed to, but the idea of having someone he knew, someone he could trust around- well, it was worth however any meager credits Din would be able to scrounge up tracking down some variety of common criminal or another. With any luck he wouldn’t have to leave the planet for the job, but he expected his luck was due to run dry as an off-season moisture farm any moment now.

The comms spat out another brief burst of static and a few high pitched trills before the operator came back on. _“Hangar three-five is now clear for landing. We’ll be tracking you, over._

Din felt his shoulders sag with relief and he brought the engine back up, punching the location into the nav. “Locked on for hangar three-five.”

The knife-like ship almost seemed to slice through the atmosphere as he shot through to the planet below, the darkness soon replaced with the glowing afternoon warmth of Tatooine. Shallow ranges of mountains interrupted the smooth, rolling sands, the jagged stones painted red in the light of the soon to be setting binary suns. Even in the dying day, everything was bathed in color, veins of rust and sandstone streaking through the rocky terrain and making it seem much more vibrant than it was. In the distance, a range of mountains was shrouded by a slight haze of violet from the premature sunset, but just before that was a large smattering of familiar pale structures sprawling out on the flatlands between the ranges. 

Mos Eisley.

It was definitely just before sunset, which meant Din had spent almost an entire day traveling sublight between sectors. Considering the speed he’d set it was no wonder his fuel levels were in such bad shape. An entire rotation. His disappearance would have been noticed long ago, as well as the Darksaber he left behind with Koska. He wondered if Bo-Katan had already decided to pursue him. 

He wondered if she even cared.

Din kept careful watch of the gage as he reached the city, the engine beginning to sputter just as he proceeded to land in the hangar, wings folding up for the starfighter to fit in the small structure. 

There was a slight whirring as the landing gears activated and the ship touched lightly on the ground, the engine kicking up a small amount of sand as it settled down and eventually came to a halt. Din shut the craft down and gathered up his weapons, strapping the spear and pulse rifle to his back and making sure he had the blaster on his belt before throwing back the hatch of the cockpit and awkwardly climbing over the side of the ship, dropping to the ground. 

The hangar hadn’t changed much since his last visit, but there were some subtle differences. There was a disassembled podracer in the corner that looked like it was being methodically stripped for parts, leaving a small mess of scrap metal and motivators around it. A pair of speeder bikes looked to be half repaired off near one of the high walls with an array of tools scattered across a canvas sheet beneath them like someone had once been lying there under the bikes as they fixed them. 

One of the pit droids that was cautiously skittering toward him had a ratty old red grease cloth tied beneath its flat head like a sort of neckerchief, and Din found himself staring at it for a brief moment, wondering why the droid would feel the need to the accessorize itself like that. Two more pit droids jumped to life from where they were huddled on the ground, chittering excitedly as they saw the Mandalorian, their own necks adorned with bits of colored fabric that fluttered slightly as they ran back into the garage to fetch their boss. 

It was a peculiar sight, but Din’s musings were abruptly cut short as a door slammed and the mechanic came out from the structure, a pair of goggles pushed back atop her unruly mass of curls as she furiously wiped at her grease stained hands with a rag that had seen much better days than this. 

“Two open hangars and this womp rat decides to land here just as I finished my last job-” Peli grumbled none too quietly as she made her way toward him, stopping short when she finally looked up at Din, blinking curiously. Her entire unpleasant demeanor shifted as she looked him over, raising her eyebrows like she wasn’t sure of what she was seeing. “Mando? That you under there?”

“I thought you’d recognize me,” Din smiled wryly beneath the helmet even though she couldn’t see it. “Not many Mandalorians on Tatooine, last I checked.”

Peli shrugged it off easily, waving her small towel toward the Gauntlet before tucking it into the pocket of her boiler suit. “Didn’t recognize that new ship of yours, thought you might be someone else. What happened to the old one?”

“It was destroyed.” Din said stiffly, not wanting to elaborate any further. Elaboration meant thinking about far too many things that he’d rather not dredge up again. Not now. 

“Put out of its misery, more like.” Peli snorted as she folded her arms across her chest, but the playful expression dropped from her face as she seemed to read his defensive posture and the mechanic managed to look sympathetic, lowering her head slightly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Din was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say in response. Thankfully, it seemed like he didn’t need to because Peli recovered quickly, her face brightening as she moved past him toward the ship, standing on the tips of her feet as she craned to see inside of the cockpit with little success. 

“Well come on, where’s the little guy?” Peli turned to Din, looking between him and the Gauntlet with an admonishing look on her face that did little to edge out her energetic eagerness. “Don’t tell me you left him alone on the ship again.”

 _She was looking for the child,_ Din realized suddenly, and he felt something cold and heavy wrap around his heart the longer Peli looked at him, her expectation beginning to devolve into worry. 

“No, he’s-” Din shook his head slightly, looking down at the ground. “The kid’s not on the ship.”

“Then where-” Peli froze, her face falling as she stared, raising a hand to her mouth. “Oh, _no-”_

“He’s safe.” Din assured her before she could go on thinking the worst, and while her features were flooded with relief, the words sounded empty to his own ears. “He’s…he's with his kind.”

Peli sighed and rubbed her brow, inadvertently smearing a line of grease across her temple. “You did what you had to do, I guess. I’ll miss him though.”

“Me too,” Din found himself saying before he could stop himself, but she only nodded in sympathy. 

There was another moment of brief silence before Peli drew in a breath and adjusted the goggles on her head, planting her hands on her hips as she looked back at the ship. “Well, I’m guessing this probably wasn’t just a friendly visit then. What do you need?”

“Fuel,” Din replied easily, glad for the change of subject. They were down to business now. Peli turned her focus back to the ship and he followed the mechanic as she ran through a brief inspection of the exterior, looking around for the fuel tank. “And I need you to disable any form of tracking that might be onboard. I’ve turned the transponder off but I need to make sure no one’s going to be able to find or identify it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Peli snorted, raising an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “You runnin’ from something, Mando?”

“Do you really want to know?”

She shrugged and turned away from the ship, heading back to the garage. “Not really. Anything else?”

Din sighed and followed her, his larger footprints overtaking hers in the sand as they made their way to the structure. “I was hoping to be able to keep the ship here in the hangar while I look for work in the city.”

Peli’s eyebrows rose higher and she reached for a tablet on a nearby workbench, punching a few things in as she looked over it at the Mandalorian in front of her. “That’s gonna cost you, pal. You got credits?”

“Not enough,” Din admitted, reaching for the small pouch on his belt and emptying out the contents into her waiting hand.

“You really do need to find work then,” The mechanic looked over the small sum of credits, but instead of pocketing them like Din expected, she shook her head and let them fall back into the pouch, returning them to him. “You keep these, might need ‘em. Pay me when you’re able.”

He was taken aback by the gesture and tucked the pouch into a safe pocket beneath his cuirass, staring at her curiously. “Thank you.”

Peli shrugged again like it wasn’t as big a deal as he was making it about to be. “Just don’t go telling anyone that I’m picking favorites or they’ll all be wanting special treatment.”

Din nodded and she finished up the work on her tablet, setting it aside and looking back at the starfighter. Over the high walls of the hangar, he could see the twin suns making their way down to the horizon, painting the sky with a vibrant array of colors. The wings of the Gauntlet looked like they were doused with rust in the warm light, the blue accents turning a dark brown. 

He really hated that ship.

“I don’t know how you feel about droids since that seems to change like the wind, but I did take on some help recently,” Peli interrupted Din’s thoughts as she spoke and she nudged his arm with a small grin. “Decent fella, easy on the eyes too if you know what I mean.” 

“I’m sure I don’t.” Din laughed, but it was nothing more than a short exhalation of breath. 

“Sheesh, you don’t let yourself have any fun, do you?” Peli shook her head like he was hopeless, and in all fairness he probably was. Still, it was at least amusing. 

“Not last I checked.”

“A regular comedian, folks,” Peli muttered and a few droids chittered in what Din assumed to be laughter. The mechanic dropped into a nearby seat and kicked her legs up over a small table, scattering a few sabacc cards into the sand that the droids quickly set to work picking up. “Well, he’s out for a bit anyway and I’m worn out. The last customer had a podracer blown to pieces and needed it fixed in _two_ hours! Not an easy job. Wanna wait until my guy gets back?”

Din wasn’t sure what kind of a person Peli hired to help around the hangar, and he certainly didn’t know if he could trust him. For all her claims of being an excellent judge of character, Mos Eisley wasn’t exactly teeming with decent people. 

“The droids will be fine,” Din decided, and a few of them perked up eagerly, glad to be of use. They immediately skittered off toward the Gauntlet and Din looked down at Peli, almost tempted to remove his helmet just so she could see the gratitude on his face. “Thank you again.”

Peli waved her hand dismissively, but she was smiling, reaching for the sabacc cards. “Ah, don’t go getting sappy on me, Mando. Go on, you better go find yourself some work.”

“Right,” Din sighed and drew his shoulders back, casting one last look at his stolen ship before heading out of the hangar. 

The door slid shut behind him as he cleared the steps and made it out onto the small side street. There were a few people milling about, a laughing couple trading drinks from a covered bottle, no doubt tainted with spice, but Din paid them no mind, weaving between the small buildings toward the main stretch just beyond. 

After clearing a small, cluttered alleyway, Din found himself on the bustling main street, alive with activity in the lateness of the day. Vendors were set up in small tented stalls along the sandy stretch, pressed up against the larger buildings and peddling their various wares to the passing crowds. Vast varieties of colored fabrics fluttered in the slight wind and smoke drifted up from a few stands selling some poor cooked creatures. Voices called and instruments played, the atmosphere saturated with a cacophony of sounds and sensations. The words of a dozen different languages rang in Din’s ears as he tried his best to pass through the mass of people unnoticed, but it was a task that proved impossible as the shining beskar drew eyes from nearly everyone he passed. 

Luckily, there were far too many captivating things beside a Mandalorian to keep their attention for long, especially when a burst of fire shot up from a grill, leading to a rousing cheer from the bystanders who bore witness. A man covered in beskar was not the most exciting thing they’d see that night. He was as fleeting as any passing attraction that might catch their fancy.

To the untrained eye, it all seemed so jovial, so normal. But Din’s experience was not that innocent. He could see the blasters concealed beneath clothing, the rifles strapped prominently to the backs of petty criminals whose gazes sought out easy prey from the cover of alleyways. The small child darting from stall to stall, person to person, had a bulging satchel full of stolen wares and credits picked from unprotected pockets. A wizened hand of a beggar reached for a drink and their hand was struck away by an angry vendor. Pilots stopping for the night bought company with a few credits. Sacks of red powder- spice- hid behind stalls, half heartedly concealed from authorities who were likely due a cut of the profit anyway.

This was the Mos Eisley that Din saw at sunset. A bustling hive of villainy and misery where honey ran red with spice and blood. 

It was awful, but it meant work. Not the honest kind, but it was all he could do with his skillset. If you were good with a blaster and didn’t mind a fight, there were credits in it for you somewhere.

Din felt a heaviness in his heart as he made his way down the street, keeping his head down to avoid any trouble. He didn’t like the idea of reverting to old habits. Underworld jobs usually meant something bad, and perhaps once that wouldn’t have phased him, but now he found himself more hesitant, more wary. With the kid around, Din had tried his best to stay on the right side of things, and he’d done well. They managed. It felt good. It _was_ good.

Except now, righteousness wasn’t a luxury Din could afford. 

He sighed. Mayfeld was right. Morals bent under the pressure of desperation. 

Beskar was malleable after all. 

The pale walls of the large cantina soon came into sight and Din headed toward it, sidestepping an angry looking Gamorrean on his way to the open doorway and finally escaping the hectic street.

Din hadn’t expected the cantina to be any quieter given the time of day, and it certainly wasn’t. Every single seat was occupied, leaving many patrons standing or leaning against walls and they traded drinks, stories, and credits. He counted at least three different games of sabacc going at various tables and whatever sort of illegal gambling was taking place behind the black curtain that shut off the back room, a space reserved for clientele with deeper pockets than most. 

A band of Bith played a wide range of instruments on a low stage to the side but Din paid them no mind as he headed straight for the bar, wedging himself between some people to even reach it. There were some angry grumbles as a patron moved their large glass of amber colored liquor out of the way and continued their conversation with a Twi’lek. 

One of the attending droids took notice of the Mandalorian and sped over, promptly placing an empty cup in front of him and tilting its head at him expectantly. “What can I get you?”

Din pushed the silver cup back toward the droid and leaned closer so he could be heard over all the noise. “I’m a bounty hunter, I’m looking for work.”

“I’m afraid the Bounty Guild no longer operates on Tatooine.” the droid somehow managed to sound brisk with its staggering mechanical voice, pinching the cup in its hand once again. 

“I’m well aware,” Din said, the words tasting bitter and acrid in his mouth. No drink would be able to wash down the foul taste of morality’s decay. “I’ll take anything you have.”

The droid looked at him for a moment, almost like it was considering something. For a moment they just stood there, Din staring at the unreadable face of the droid as it sized him up, deciding his fate. After another moment, there was nothing. Then, the droid reached under the bar and produced a small control, pressing a button at the center of it.

Din instinctively reached for his blaster, looking around for whoever the call had summoned, but no one jumped out at him. 

Instead, across the cantina, the black curtain concealing the back room fluttered and parted, a human man in crisp dark robes stepping out and planting himself in front of the entryway. He locked his eyes on Din and inclined his head in a slight nod, as if beckoning him to come over.

 _Not the client,_ Din’s instincts told him. _Their enforcer, maybe._

Underworld. Possibly. Most likely organized crime. 

The man didn’t seem to be armed, however, nor did he make any further move toward the Mandalorian. He simply stood. Waiting. 

Casting one last look at the droid, Din relaxed his hold on his blaster and stepped away from the bar, weaving through the crowd of people and making his way toward the man in the back. 

It only took a few moments to reach him, and only a handful of seconds for Din to size him up as they stood before each other. 

The man was tall, but not much more than Din, and even without armour he was an imposing sight on his own. One of his irises was a normal shade of dark brown, but his right one was a deep, unnerving shade of bloody crimson. Judging by how natural it seemed to look, it must have been the product of some expensive Deep Core cosmetic alterations. His dark skin was marred by a relatively fresh looking wound that ran across the crimson eye, reaching down over a blunt cheek bone and stretching up across a dark eyebrow. It had successfully scabbed over, but looked like it had gone without bacta for too long and was likely going to leave a scar. 

Beyond that, he looked strong. Even unarmed, Din began to wonder what his chances would be in a fight against him, should it come to that. The man was definitely underworld, but the thought of having a Deep Core procedure on his iris seemed like a strange contradiction to Din. It didn’t make sense. 

“You’re a bounty hunter,” the man finally spoke in a smooth, low voice, accented like he came from a planet of much finer stock than this one. 

_You’re a bounty hunter._ It wasn’t phrased like a question, but Din inclined his head in a nod regardless. “Yes. And I’m looking for a job. Do you have one?”

The man’s lips curled into an amused smile and he reached behind himself to pull back the curtain. “My employer does.”

“So who are you?”

“I’m Vallor,” he said coolly, giving no further elaboration than that. “Come in, we’ll get things sorted.”

Din didn’t like the idea of putting his back to anyone he didn’t trust, but it wasn’t likely that there was anyone trustworthy in this business he was involving himself in. He gave Vallor a long, silent look before eventually making up his mind and ducking through the curtain, keeping his arm close to his side in case he needed to reach for his blaster. 

The curtain fell shut and Din found himself in a small room lit with dim blue light, the remnants of a few drinks and a blaster sitting on the table at the booth. There was a closed door at the back that he assumed could only lead to the outside and a window with the sand shutters closed tight. 

Empty. There was no one else there.

“I forgot to mention,” Vallor’s voice came from behind Din and he barely caught sight of the man in his periphery as he came to stand beside him. “My employer can be rather…paranoid at times.”

“What does that-”

Din hardly had any time to reach before something was jammed into his neck and an electric shock coursed through his body, streaks of violent blue light dancing frantically across his armour as he yelled in agony. His veins burned with molten fury that seemed to reach down and wrap around his bones, his lungs, his heart, and Din let out a stuttered gasp as he fell heavily to his knees, crashing to the ground. Each breath sent a fresh wave of burning pain through him and his head pounded viciously, his vision swimming in and out of darkness. 

Awkwardly, Din reached for his blaster, but his hands were seized and twisted behind his back, locked into a pair of cuffs. It was only then that the back door opened and a pair of people entered, their figures only dark silhouettes against the bloody sky behind them. 

He began to sway precariously on his knees, almost tipping forward straight to the floor, but Vallor’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, holding him still. 

_“Why-”_ Din barely managed to rasp as the figures advanced and threw a dark hood over his head, cinching it tight and blinding his vision. 

“I told you,” Vallor’s voice sounded muted, far away, but the amusement was clear enough. “My employer is paranoid. Don’t worry, we’re taking you to her right now. This is just the necessary procedure.”

He released Din’s shoulder, letting his limp body finally hit the ground. Din barely had enough energy to groan, unable to distinguish his own failing sight from the darkness of the hood.

Someone seized his legs and another grabbed him under his arms, preparing to lift him. Din tried to thrash against them, but something sharp cut through the material of his clothing and stabbed into his outer thigh. There was a hiss, like a syringe was decompressed, and immediately he felt a rush of _something_ course through his veins and hit his head like a dense cloud, relaxing his limbs and easing his eyes shut. 

He couldn’t fight this. 

“Sleep well, Mandalorian.”

Din felt the ground disappear beneath him, and consciousness went with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: A Wanted Man
> 
> Happy new year everyone, what better way to start things off than a really long Cobb/Din fic? Seriously, I've looked over my planning and this word count is about to get some serious mileage as the chapters go on. I'm really excited for this work and I hope you all enjoy it. I promise Cobb is going to make an amazing appearance in the next chapter and I'm definitely going to delve a lot deeper into their relationship than my last fic so I hope you'll stick around for that! Comments are extremely appreciated and I'd love to hear any feedback on this first chapter! The next one isn't far off, I promise..
> 
> \- Milo


	2. A Wanted Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din finally comes face to face with the mysterious client, but their answers only lead to more questions, and he soon realizes that this bounty is something much more than he could have ever expected. An explosion and brash attack brings a reunion for the marshal and the Mandalorian.

A firm hand on his arm guided him as they walked, but even with the hood on Din wasn’t half as blind as they’d have liked him to be. 

Din remembered a session from his training with the Mandalorian fighting corps when he was younger where each one of them had taken a turn fighting with a dark cloth sack tied over their helmets. The idea was to teach the foundlings how to embrace their other senses in the event that one was lost or disrupted in a fight. Touch and sound were their greatest allies if they were without sight. The footfalls of their enemy, the whistle of a weapon sailing through the air, the subtle click of a firing mechanism and the shriek of blaster fire, the feeling of the terrain underneath them and the walls at their sides. 

It was no different now. Din was without sight, yes, but far from blind. A good Mandalorian need not rely solely on their eyes to see. 

He was awake when the transport stopped, his muscles sore from the spasms after the electrocution, but he had regained enough of his strength to stand when he was bodily hauled out of some sort of speeder. Beneath Din’s feet, the ground was hard- not like hard packed sand after hundreds of feet beat it into some sort of solidness, but stone. Hard, uneven stones patched together to create a street. Not an overly populated one though. Where the stretch outside of the cantina had been ripe with noise, it was oddly silent here, save for the whir of a speeder in the distance or the rustling of sand blowing across the stones. The sound of boots hitting the ground came suddenly and Din’s attention quickly focused on taking in this new information. 

The hand clamped down on his shoulder was strong and vaguely familiar, so Vallor, perhaps. Two people had grabbed Din in the cantina, and he catalogued their lighter footfalls as the soles of their boots scuffled on the pavement. A grunt of exertion, then another set of feet hit the ground, slightly heavier and awkward, like they were rapidly regaining their balance. There was an angry burst of muffled Rodian which caught Din by surprise, and instinctively he almost turned to look in spite of the thick black hood covering his face. 

Din wasn’t the only other bounty hunter they’d taken. 

_Great,_ he thought irritably. _Competition._

As if this strange deal couldn’t possibly sour any further.

A part of his mind was cautious, wary, apprehensive that this would end with his body being thrown into Beggar’s Canyon, his armour either stripped by jawas or sold on the black market by whoever he was being led to, but Din didn’t think it was likely. If he was going to be killed, Vallor could have done that when he was immobilized in the back room of the cantina. There was no need for any of this. 

No, whatever was happening, whoever was pulling the strings here, they wanted him alive. At least for the time being.

“Time to move, Mandalorian,” Vallor’s voice said from Din’s left, the hand on his shoulder tightening and pushing him forward. 

Strangely, Din hadn’t been disarmed. The restraints were still locked around his wrists behind his back, but he could feel the spear and rifle strapped safely to his back, the blaster on his belt jostling against his leg with each step he took. All he needed was one hand free to spin the entire situation on its head, and he was going to take his chance as soon as he got it. 

Whatever this pantomime was about, Din wasn’t on board with it. He wanted straightforward answers, none of this smoke and mirrors absurdity. 

If there was one thing he learned in all his years, it was that people became incredibly forthcoming once they were looking down the wrong end of a blaster.

They only took a few more steps before the cobblestone street vanished and was replaced by smooth stone flooring. A door hissed shut behind him, sealing them in whatever building they’d entered. Immediately, Din’s mind set to work on trying to figure out where it was he’d been taken. 

The air had still been warm outside, not yet bearing the traces of coolness that heralded nightfall. The suns hadn’t set yet. Not much time must have passed, then.

Din’s biggest clue was the street outside. Most of Mos Eisley’s streets were just composed of whatever stretch of sand a building hadn’t been built on. Paved roads and cobbled streets were rare, reserved for the richer areas of the city, far away from the criminality of the central district and cantina. Not as far as the outskirts, but just barely there. Stone streets on Tatooine meant money, and money meant financial and business districts. After all, any place that even had these streets meant that someone was paying to keep the sand cleaned off them. The deepest of deep pockets. 

The way their footsteps echoed off the walls led Din to believe that not only was it an incredibly large space they were walking through, it was _tall._ The sound seemed to follow the walls upward to a distant ceiling far above their heads. A building like this would be distinct, standing out like a tower against the fairly flat skyline. Din would be able to find his way back to this place with little problem. If he ever made it out. 

_Who the hell had he gotten himself involved with?_

Suddenly, they stopped, and Vallor’s hand on his shoulder vanished, followed by the hood only moments later. 

Now able to see, Din found himself unable to do anything but stare.

His initial assumptions were correct. It was a big space. But it was much more than anything he could have expected.

Din was hesitant to even call the place a room simply because of the sheer size of it. It was formatted like an insanely large courtyard with walls, at least three times the size of the city square on Nevarro. An arena, perhaps, would be more apt, though he was sure it was nothing of the kind.

The pale stone walls of the sizable space were slanted like a pyramid, but if anything the building was most likely shaped like an obelisk of sorts, tall and narrowed at the top. Instead of a capstone, however, the ceiling was a massive glass oculus, a round sheet of glass set into a squared frame about fifty feet up from where Din was standing. It was big enough to where a ship the size of the Gauntlet would likely be able to land atop it with room to spare. Amber sunlight poured through the glass, painting everything in sunset hues, aided by scones of artificial lights set at intervals on the walls. At least a dozen varieties of beautiful plants grew from a soil filled ditch that followed the perimeter of the room, followed by a line of thin piping that seemed to serve as some sort of irrigation system. Bursts of violent color stood out from lush emerald leaves as strange flowers craned out from the greenery to display their stunning looks. There were a few trees with blue leaves that looked like they bore fruit, but it was unlike any kind Din had ever seen before. He wasn’t even sure what to call them.

In this building alone there was more plant life than anything that grew naturally on the entirety of the planet. 

On the far side of the place was a door, and just before that was a large, obsidian table that stretched almost half the length of the room, decked with two dozen chairs and a rather ornate looking one at the head of it reserved for whoever was in charge. Light reflected off the sheer surface of the table and the shining gold accents that adorned the backs of the tall seats, like each was a throne, and every potential occupant royalty. 

The most abhorrent thing, however, was what stood not ten meters in front of him.

In the center of the space, set directly beneath the glass oculus, was a fountain. 

Din had heard the sound of trickling water the second the door shut behind them, but there was no possible way he could have foreseen the way it was presented. The fountain was made of the same sand colored stone as the rest of the building and was at least five feet tall, if not a bit over. There was a large circular basin that served as a pool for the cascading water, startlingly clear liquid spilling over two different tiers before finally reaching it. A myriad of colors glittered beneath the water’s surface, and it took a moment for him to recognize the source. Silicax crystals. 

The very sight of the fountain made Din’s blood boil in his veins and a dull pounding reached his ears as he clenched his bound hands into fists, taking measured breaths to try and temper the burst of cold fury in his chest. 

It was the kind of wasteful opulence that made his head spin and stomach churn. The very sight of it felt like an insult to everyone who occupied Tatooine. Tuskens, who had to survive off the foul nourishment of their strange black fruit, unable to obtain even the most basic of resources. Moisture farmers who toiled day in and day out, vaporators sucking the air dry for the barest amounts of pale, cloudy water to distribute to the rest of the population. 

On another planet where water was more plentiful, Din might not have given it much thought. But he’d spent far too much time on Tatooine for this injustice to escape his notice. 

Din didn’t even realize he was free of the cuffs until he was reaching for his blaster, turning the weapon in Vallor’s direction in a moment of sheer impulsivity. The man was quick to react and seized his wrist in a bruising grip, slamming his forearm down on Din’s vambrace and causing his arm to buckle, allowing Vallor to twist the weapon from his grasp. Without hesitation, Din tore himself away and reached behind him for the spear, freeing the weapon and swinging it in an arc toward him. A clear whistle sang through the air as the weapon soared toward Vallor, causing him to quickly side step the strike, keeping a wary distance of the blade’s point leveled directly at his sternum.

“You just made a big mistake, my friend,” Vallor snarled, casting the blaster aside. It skittered across the floor and struck the base of the fountain, out of reach, useless. 

“No,” Din said evenly, his heart racing beneath his cuirass. “You did.”

He swung the spear at the side of Vallor’s head and the man ducked just in time, giving Din the distraction he needed to surge forward and hook his foot behind the man’s leg just as he began to stand, sending him flat onto his back. The beskar sang as it sailed downward, the speartip aimed at Vallor’s vulnerable throat. Victory didn’t come that easily, as Vallor wasted no time in batting the blade aside and grabbing hold of the spear’s shaft, sitting up and pulling on it- hard. 

Vallor’s advantage was his leverage, and Din’s mistake was tightening his grip. The sudden jerk caught him off guard and he lost balance, tumbling forward. The other man fell onto his back and planted his feet in Din’s stomach, using the momentum to throw the Mandalorian clear over him. Din landed heavily on his back with a sharp gasp, the beskar jetpack clanging off the solid ground and taking the brunt of the landing. Scrambling to his feet, Din raised the beskar spear just as the telltale click of a blaster sounded and he found himself staring at his own stolen weapon in Vallor’s hand trained directly at him. 

Before either of them could even think to make a move, the door on the far side of the room slid open and a clear voice rang out over the rush of blood surging past Din’s ears, ceasing all motion. 

“That’s enough!”

The effect on Vallor was almost immediate as he lowered the blaster and drew his shoulders back, standing tall and turning toward the source of the voice like a soldier standing at attention. Din, however, was much more hesitant in his response, casting a final wary glance in Vallor’s direction before planting the end of the staff on the ground and looking over at the figure striding purposefully across the room. 

“That’s enough,” the woman said again, closing the distance and fixing Vallor with a patient smile, her clear blue eyes glittering in the light of sunset pouring in through the oculus above her, catching off her short hair and turning it several different shades of gold. “Come now, Val, is this any way to treat a guest?”

The ends of her black robes swirled around her legs as she walked, giving a spectral image to the thin human before him. Din was immediately on his guard, watching her movements carefully and taking in every detail of her appearance. There was a firm set to her jaw that was almost outdone by the softness of her younger features, the curl of her reddened lips and shining eyes. The neckline of her robes cut sharply down her flat sternum in a narrow line, revealing a red crystal suspended on a chain that rested against her chest, reminding Din startlingly of Vallor’s colored eye. There was a small comlink nestled in her right ear, a glint of silver betraying its presence.

Beautiful would be one word to describe her, but there was something sharp about that beauty, a hidden hostility disguised by outward appearances. 

Authoritative. That was how she looked. She was the one in charge. The puppeteer of this absurd charade.

The client.

The woman came to a stop in front of Din, a small smile playing across her face as she eyed him curiously, her gaze traveling over the beskar and resting on the spear in his hand, brow arching as she took in the strange weapon. 

It was the kind of analytical curiosity Din had seen leveled at him and his kind far too many times. The kind that told him there was very little she’d rather do than take him apart just to see what made him tick, dismember him like a droid and pick away at the beskar shell to find the beating heart inside. 

_Do not underestimate her,_ Din’s instincts cautioned. _Not for a single second._

As if sensing his apprehension, her smile grew, widening across her face.

“A Mandalorian,” the woman mused in her smooth voice, intrigue written across her pale face. “I’m familiar with some of your people. What kind are you, I wonder?”

“The kind who doesn’t like being electrocuted and drugged without knowing why,” Din replied curtly, looking down and meeting her gaze through the visor.

“Fair enough,” she inclined her head in acknowledgement, a playful light dancing in her clear eyes. “Vallor, return this man’s weapon.” She spoke to him without taking her eyes off the Mandalorian, directing her words to where he stood off to the side.

Din didn’t allow himself to be surprised for more than a moment, accepting the blaster when Vallor handed it back to him and stowing it away in his belt, watching carefully as the enforcer stepped away, wordlessly resuming his previous position. 

Now, the woman turned to Vallor, clasping her hands together. “You bring the Rodian- Nalani Maru, is it?” She looked over at the Rodian bounty hunter who nodded in response. “Bring him up to speed. I’d like to speak to this one myself.”

There was no gesture to accompany those final words, but there was no mistaking who she was talking about. 

Din. She meant Din.

Something unpleasant flitted across Vallor’s features as he fought to contain a snarl, the scar across his eye jumping as a muscle twitched. “I don’t think that’s wise, Miss Rivian.”

“Leave us.” The woman- Rivian- ordered, turning her gaze on him evenly.

“But-” Vallor protested, glancing over at the Mandalorian.

“I said leave us, Greyson.” Rivian repeated coolly. The patient smile never left her face even as her voice took on a frigid tone, and Vallor seemed to recognize that there was to be no further arguments on the matter. 

The man gave a stiff nod at the other two guards and the Rodian, leading the way to the door that Rivian had come through across the room. In a few moments, they were gone, leaving only Din and Rivian staring at each other, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the trickling of water from the fountain. 

“Let’s sit,” Rivian suggested, tilting her head and turning on her heel, striding toward the obsidian table, not even looking to see that Din was following her. She settled herself down in the ornate chair at the head of the table, gesturing smoothly to the seat nearest her for him to sit. “Can I offer you anything? I’ve some Corellian whiskey that’s just come in if that’s the kind of thing that interests you.”

Clearly whatever Mandalorians she’d come across weren’t cut from the same cloth he was, nor did they follow the same creed, otherwise this wouldn’t be a gesture she thought to be warranted at all. 

“No, thank you,” Din removed the rifle from his back and put it together with the spear, leaning them both against the side of his chair as he took a seat, keeping his hands in his lap in case he needed to reach for the blaster at his side. Something about Rivian’s demeanor was far too casual, it put him on edge. For the supposedly paranoid orchestrator of his abduction from the cantina, the woman was treating this so normally, like they were old acquaintances who hadn’t spoken in quite some time. 

“Very well, then.” Rivian leaned back comfortably in her seat as she turned her eyes on the Mandalorian once again. “Do you have a name?”

“Does it matter?” 

“I suppose it doesn’t,” she lifted a slim shoulder in a slight shrug. “Well, my name is Caia Rivian, I’m the head of the Red Star collective. We and our partners are the overseers and investors of over a dozen different operations all over Tatooine, from moisture farming to dilarium mining. And, of course,” Rivian hooked her necklace chain with a finger and let the red crystal dangle in the air, reflecting the light and casting a scattered array of shapes across the sheer tabletop. “Silica oxalate. We’re also currently in negotiations for water import rights with at least two different systems. If there’s credits to be made, our people are in it.”

If she expected him to be impressed by any of this, she was sorely mistaken.

“For an honest businesswoman you sure have an interesting way of dealing with things,” Din said roughly, watching as Rivian shifted to sit more upright.

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry about that unpleasantness earlier, I hope you weren’t handled too harshly.” Caia sounded passively sincere, unbothered by whatever ire his insinuations held. “Vallor- you’ve met him, he likes to call me paranoid, but I prefer ‘cautious’. What do you think of him?”

“I don’t-” he started to say, searching for some way to move things forward so they could get to the matter at hand. 

“Oh, _come on,_ play the game.” Rivian grinned, leaning forward and resting her forearms on the table like she was thoroughly enjoying this. “Go on, give me your impression.”

Din raised an eyebrow beneath his helmet. “Is this a test?”

“It could be.”

He gave a short sigh of resignation, shaking his head and deciding to indulge her strange whims. After all, Din had done nothing but analyze every aspect of his surroundings and the people around him since he was taken, so it wouldn’t prove difficult. “Judging by the way he fights, I’d say ex-military. He grew up on one of the Core worlds, but the war brought him this far out where he learned that he could make more money turning his skills to the underworld.”

“Got it in one,” Rivian looked oddly pleased with him, tapping her fingers delicately against the obsidian in a distracted rhythm. “He’s a relic of an age long past. I imagine he fought with the rebellion in another life, but that was before my time in the sun. My father used to head this business, Vallor was his right hand man. When the mantle fell to me, he left Vallor with orders to stand by my side as he did his.”

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“I’m making conversation. I like to get a feel for someone before going into business with them, gage what kind of a person they are,” she reached into a hidden pocket in her robes and withdrew a small, round bounty puck, twirling it idly between her fingers as she spoke. “Now, I’m guessing you don’t think very much of me, but that’s neither here nor there. What’s important is the job, and those I trust to carry it out.” Rivian fixed him with a firm gaze, her playful attitude leaching away into cool severity. “Can I trust you, Mandalorian?”

“I don’t even know what the job is yet.” Din pointed out, tempering his irritation.

“Then I’ll tell you.” Rivian set the bounty puck on the table in front of them, but chose not to activate the holo, instead folding her hands over each other as she maintained surprisingly accurate eye contact with him. “Recently, we obtained an asset that could prove invaluable to our operations on Tatooine. A certain man disagreed with our methods and, well, negotiations did not go as planned.” 

Every word sounded deliberately picked and meaningfully coded, her own speech designed to be a mirage, disguising her true meaning. _Asset. Negotiations. Operations._ Perfectly innocent, but not as they seemed. 

Din held back a scoff, reading between her careful phrasing with practiced ease. “You mean you failed to kill him.”

“You are a sharp one, then,” Rivian raised a slender, golden eyebrow. “I suppose I should dispense with the pretenses then.”

“That would save time.”

“And time is money,” she smiled thinly. “Yes, I set Vallor on his trail along with five of my best men, and needless to say they failed in completing the task I set before them. This man poses a significant threat to our interests and we’d appreciate his capture sooner rather than later.”

“What has he done?” Din asked before he could stop himself.

Rivian didn’t seem bothered by the question, simply twisting her linked hands almost fretfully as she looked down at the lifeless puck. “About a month ago, two of our mining facilities were blown up and a failed attempt at infiltrating our facility led to the death of an innocent guard. At least a dozen of my men died in those explosions and we lost millions of credits in revenue from the damage and destruction. Let me spare no blushes, Mandalorian, this man is a terrorist and a murderer.” 

It wasn’t often that Din came across clients so forthcoming about the details of their bounties, usually providing straightforward vague descriptions or simplistic explanations. Still, it wasn’t like he couldn’t take advantage of this and work in some questions of his own. Sate his growing curiosity.

“You said these attacks happened a month ago,” Din frowned, leaning forward. “Why wait so long to put out the bounty?”

“I hoped to settle this matter internally, but as time goes on I have grown to appreciate the expediency that could come from outsourcing this bounty,” she fixed him with a knowing smile as if to indicate their current circumstances. “You’re not the only hunter we’ve set on his trail, Mandalorian. I’ve been assured that Nalani Maru, the Rodian, is the best in the system. Unhampered by all those Guild codes and regulations. But I have a feeling you will prove to be an interesting player in this game.”

Din didn’t like the way she said that, but he shook it off, pressing forward. “What’s the rate?”

“It’s a straightforward commission,” Rivian said simply, spreading her hands. “I’m prepared to pay ten thousand credits up front and fifty thousand upon delivery of the bounty. Perfectly clean money, no Imperial credits, I assure you. But I want him alive, do you understand?” 

“Shouldn’t you tell me who he is first?” Din inclined his head toward the bounty puck that lay forgotten on the table. 

He knew clients that liked to talk, liked to stress the importance of their situation, but at the end of the day a bounty was a bounty no matter what the person had done. The child had been an exception to the rule, but Din seriously doubted this was going to be anything similar. Bombers were rare bounties, but not unfamiliar. He’d once set after a man who was blowing up trade ports in the Thand sector after losing his position on the board of the mining collective for the colony in that region. They were usually the reckless types. Explosive, yes, but easy enough to catch. 

And Rivian was promising a lot of credits to complete the task. Din wasn’t sure how good Maru was, but he wasn’t about to let a bounty like this pass him by. For someone in his position, someone on the run, it was almost too good to be true. 

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Rivian’s lips curled into an amused smirk as her eyes trailed over Din’s visor again. “Well, I suppose we have dallied enough.”

She reached forward and pressed a finger against the side of the puck, activating the holo. There was a brief flicker of blue light as it started up, the face of the bounty finally projecting above the obsidian and slowly rotating to face Din.

It was then that he forgot how to breathe, staring in silent shock at the image of the man before him. There was a heavy feeling settling into place in his sinking stomach like his entire abdomen was infused with cold lead, freezing him in place and forcing him to succumb to the effects of sheer, undiluted dread. 

_This couldn’t be possible._

Din had long since lost count of the number of bounties he’d tracked down in his time. Lost track of the different faces than shone from various holo pucks all over the Outer Rim. He no longer let himself be surprised by the types of people he tracked down. Anyone was capable of crimes, of their own atrocities. Any species. Anyone. 

But not _him. Not this man._

He forced himself to swallow, forced himself to remember to breathe as the holo completed another rotation, those warm eyes rendered cold and unfeeling by the flickering blue light, staring blankly at Din from the projection, an unfamiliar name shining in bold red lettering above his head.

_It was him._

It couldn’t be.

Din could watch the holo turn to face him a million times over, and it still wouldn’t be enough to convince himself of what he was seeing. All his experience, all his pessimism, none of it could prepare him to accept this unacceptable reality.

Nothing could prepare Din for the shock of seeing Cobb Vanth’s face staring back at him from the bounty puck.

The name was wrong, but there was no mistaking that face. The holo even managed to capture the jagged scar that cut across the right side of his head, the mole by his left eye, every detail that made his features memorable was captured almost perfectly. Din had conjured his face up countless times in his mind, revisiting his memories of Mos Pelgo and the marshal that protected it, and that was who he was seeing now. 

Cobb Vanth. 

Cobb Vanth was a wanted man.

This didn’t make any sense.

None of this did.

He was the marshal, a man of the law, protector of his people. He wasn’t any of the things Caia Rivian said he was. He couldn’t be.

 _Yes, he could,_ a small part of Din’s mind spoke up. _If he had a reason._

Din turned to Caia Rivian, his guard up even higher than it had been when they first met only minutes before. Whatever this woman was doing, whatever she was involved with in her _operations,_ it had to be something horrendous. 

If her words were to be trusted in the slightest, Cobb had killed at least thirteen people. It would take something unthinkable to turn a good man to such extremes. 

“No one’s been willing to give us his real identity,” Rivian interrupted Din’s thoughts, her own eyes fixed on the slowly turning holo, expression souring the longer she looked at him. “But as far as we know he answers to the name of Hal Verso. An alias, I presume.” 

_You have no idea._

Whatever happened, Din would have to help him. Get to him before any of the other hunters. He needed to hear Cobb out, because he couldn’t believe a word Rivian was saying. For all her calmness and flagrant opulence, he knew Caia Rivian wasn’t a woman to be trusted. She spoke like she had something to hide. No one came about this much money the honest way, and he’d pegged Vallor as underworld from the start, so there was no doubt that title extended to Rivian herself.

Cobb. He could trust Cobb. Din trusted him enough to leave the fate of the child in his hands, trusted him to care for Grogu if everything went wrong. The kid was worth more than the entire galaxy to Din. The man he entrusted with that responsibility couldn’t have changed so much in the time they were apart. 

Nothing was as it seemed here. 

“I like you, Mandalorian.” Rivian shifted her shining eyes to rest on his visor once again, lips curved into a small smile. “You and your armour. You reflect everything, but reveal nothing. I envy you that. Underneath all that beskar, though, I’ll bet you’re as exposed as a nerve.”

She seemed to take a perverse sort of pleasure in watching his posture stiffen, amused that she managed to strike beneath the impervious armour. This was her game.

“You don't know anything about me.” Din replied swiftly, sounding much more defensive than he meant to. _And you don’t know anything about Cobb._

“I expect very few do,” Rivian’s expression was delicately smug as she looked him over. She slid the bounty puck toward him and Din quickly pocketed it as if she might snatch it back if he didn’t move fast enough. “Find Hal Verso, and the money is yours. If it means anything, I do hope it’ll be you.”

 _I can’t tell you how little it means,_ Din had to refrain himself from snapping. 

Just then, a thunderous roar erupted from outside, the force of the explosion rattling the entire towering building. A sharp sound sliced through the air above them and Din looked up to see a large fissure weaving through the glass oculus. It was nothing short of a miracle that the ceiling hadn’t shattered into a thousand fragments and rained down on them. 

Rivian was on her feet in seconds, her features betraying on the barest flicker of alarm as she reached a finger up to touch the comlink in her ear. There was a moment of tense silence as she listened in and Din stood, gathering his weapons up and watching as the door to the other part of the building slid open, a small group of soldiers emerging with Vallor and Maru in tow.

“Well, this should be an easy job for you,” Rivian said at last, turning to Din. “It appears he’s decided to come to us.” 

———

Din was the first to burst out onto the wide street, almost stumbling over the uneven stones in his haste to search out the source of the explosion. 

There was a deep gouge carved into the side of the tall building he’d come out of, a small mound of rubble gathered on the street below, a few errant chunks of stone still tumbling down from the destruction. Either the charge was weak or the walls were stronger than they seemed, because the blast hadn’t left a gaping hole in its wake. A powerful enough detonation would have brought the entire building crumbling around their ears, trapping and killing everyone inside. 

But perhaps that wasn’t the culprit’s intention. Perhaps he didn’t mean to kill them.

Maybe he only wanted their attention.

The suns were setting now, bathing the entire street and surrounding buildings in bloody hues, the sandy stone turning brick red beneath the burning sky above. Instinct told Din to turn his gaze skyward and he reached for the side of his helmet, activating the visor’s thermal vision and honing in on the distant roofs of nearby structures. The blast struck the building high up, and while he didn’t doubt that Cobb had a good arm, that left too much to chance. No, he was either somewhere above them, or he was gone already.

The wide road was soon populated with five guards in dark uniforms, black visors covering the upper halves of their faces, each carrying the same large weapon. The Rodian- Maru- held a blaster cautiously out in front of himself and Vallor raised a rifle to his shoulder, sliding a lens over the scope as he scouted out the rooftops, mirroring Din’s movements. He was quick to realize that he was the only one not holding a weapon and quickly slung his rifle from his back, trying to fit in with the rest of them as they scoured the skyline for the elusive bomber.

 _Where in kriffing hell is he?_ Din thought, exasperated as his readings continued to come up empty. It was possible that Rivian had spoken too soon and this wouldn’t be as easy as she thought.

Suddenly, he caught the briefest flicker of heat on the reading as a form peered over a low wall that encircled the perimeter of the roof on the three storey building just beside Rivian’s tower. The stone must have been too thick for the thermal to penetrate because the form was gone as soon as it appeared. 

Just as he began to let himself hope that Vallor and the others hadn’t noticed, the figure on the roof stood tall, revealing himself to the men on the street below. 

Breath catching in his throat, Din quickly switched off the thermal and dialed the binoc feature to zoom in on the man before him.

It was undeniably Cobb Vanth. His appearance had changed much since Din last saw him, but it was him all the same. 

His red neckerchief was pulled up over the lower half of his face like a mask, concealing his features but leaving his bright hazel eyes visible, and even from that distance Din could make out the intensity in his gaze as he surveyed the group thirty feet below. He wore a long, dark brown jacket that seemed to be made of some sort of hide over his familiar red shirt and his dark pants were tucked into boots that ran up just below his knees, battered and old, well worn. 

A slight breeze rustled his silver hair, brushing a rogue strand across his brow as he slipped the strap of his cycler rifle over his shoulder and took an arrow from a quiver attached to a low slung belt, nocking it into a slender bow that looked to have been carved from some kind of bone.

Din wished he could stop time, freeze the others and jet up to Cobb, seize him by the arm and flee. But he could do little other than stare, struck by his appearance. Something about the sight of him was almost…beautiful. A golden ray of light in the darkening day. 

He looked nothing short of striking, his figure cutting starkly into the bleeding sky and carving out its own space in the Mos Eisley skyline.

 _See me._ Din found himself praying silently, watching the marshal carefully. _See me. Please._

His prayer seemed to have been answered almost immediately as Cobb went momentarily still before turning slowly and taking measured steps to the corner of the roof, almost as if he was being drawn in Din’s direction.

_See me._

And then he did. 

Din could see the exact moment Cobb’s eyes locked onto his visor through the enhanced sight the setting granted, watching as they widened in surprise, unable to look anywhere else. 

Those few seconds were theirs alone as both men stared at each other from a distance, each wrestling with their own disbelief. It felt surreal, seeing Cobb like this, but it was all too real. It wasn’t some mirage or spice dream. He was there. 

And he was in danger. 

“Surrender yourself, Verso!” Vallor bellowed, his voice echoing off the buildings and he raised his rifle and fired a warning shot at Cobb. The blaster fire missed him by several feet, a close call by any account, but the marshal hadn’t so much as flinched. 

_He knows they won't kill him._

In a swift movement, Cobb raised the bow and drew back the string, taking only half a second to take aim before returning the shot with deadly accuracy. The projectile whistled through the air and there was a cry of surprise as the arrow buried itself in the chest of one of the guards, throwing his body down onto the stones, dead. 

The other guards let out shouts of outrage, training their blasters on the marshal and preparing to fire in retaliation when Vallor began barking out orders, pushing them aside as he moved forward in the street. Maru began firing at Cobb, red flashes of blaster fire cutting across the sky and Din immediately joined in suit, keeping up the pretense but making sure each shot strayed a fair distance from the marshal. Close enough to belay suspicion, but not enough to put Cobb in any serious danger. 

His heart hammered painfully in his chest with each press of the trigger, every shot aligning with a thudding heartbeat. Blood rushed past his ears, almost deafening him as the guards opened fire and Cobb deftly returned their shots, doing his best to fire his arrows back as he half hid behind the roof’s low wall. 

Every shot the marshal fired struck true, and within a span of seconds only two guards were left standing and Maru let out a string of curses, snapping off the shaft of the arrow buried in his arm as he struggled to dig the sharp tip out. 

Din could only hope that Cobb really did recognize him, otherwise he was in much more trouble than he thought. The fallen guards were the furthest away from him so he let himself believe that it was a deliberate measure taken to ensure that none of the arrows came close to the Mandalorian.

Or perhaps it was just sheer luck.

“Shoot to maim!” Vallor instructed firmly to the remaining guards as he took aim through the scope of his rifle, glancing sideways at Din to make sure he heard. “Remember, we need him alive!”

 _Need._ Not _want. Need._

Din didn’t have time to reflect on that choice of wording as Cobb stood from behind the wall and drew back another arrow, letting it fly. The guards scattered from their formation and Maru dove to the side with Vallor, but instead of striking any of the men, it lodged itself between the cobblestones a few meters behind their group, quivering slightly. 

“He missed!” One of the guards laughed breathlessly, raising his blaster. 

It was then that Din noticed the beeping catching side of a rapidly blinking pinprick of red light from something round strapped to the shaft of the arrow.

_Dank farrik._

“He didn’t miss,” Vallor realized slowly, casting one final venomous look up at Cobb before turning on his heel and sprinting toward the nearest building.

Din barely had enough time to convince his body to move, running as fast as he could in Cobb’s direction and catching a brief glimpse of him disappearing behind the wall as the charge gave a final sharp chirp in warning. 

Then, it exploded. 

The force of the blast threw Din clear off his feet and he landed hard on his front, the air knocked from his lungs in one vicious blow. His bruised ribs protested the brutal impact and a pained gasp was torn from his throat, hoarse and wheezing as he struggled to take in even the slightest breath. Din’s helmet struck the ground roughly and his vision went dark for a moment, head aching monstrously even when he rolled onto his back, reaching out blindly for his fallen blaster.

There was a vicious ringing in his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut against the splitting pain that drilled through his skull from the shrill noise, gasping shallowly as it slowly subsided over the next minute, his hearing finally returning to normal.

Even through the helmet, Din could smell the overpowering scent of ash and burning polluting the air. Half of the street was utterly destroyed, a large crater spanning out from the source of the explosion. Chunks of scorched stone were scattered as far as he could see, and distantly he recognized the bodies of the two other guards lying in a crumpled heap at the base of a nearby building, the light stone sprayed with dark marks. 

Whatever Cobb had intended to do, he could only assume it was a resounding success.

Nalani Maru lay dead not far from Din, his short neck bent at an unnatural angle from a bad fall. He looked around, but Greyson Vallor was nowhere in sight. He might have succeeded in his escape.

That didn’t mean anything good, but the Mandalorian couldn’t find it in himself to pay it much mind at the moment. It was a problem for another time.

Right now, he needed to find Cobb.

As soon as he caught his breath, Din planted his hands against the ground and pushed himself into a sitting position with a grunt, every bone in his body crying out their own separate grievance as he worked to get back on his feet. 

Vertigo caught him and threatened to throw him back down, but he found his balance and stiffly slung the rifle back behind his shoulders, freeing his hands. Din looked back up at the rooftop Cobb had been on, but there was no sight of him anywhere.

Could he really have fled that quickly?

“Come on, come on,” Din muttered to himself, keeping his eyes trained skyward as he rushed down the street, searching for any trace of the man.

He’d only made it a few buildings down before a flutter of red fabric caught his eye- not on a roof, but down on the street, disappearing into a nearby alley.

_There._

Relief flooded his aching body and Din drew in a deep breath, running toward the alleyway and praying it wasn’t just a trick of the light or the beginnings of a concussion deceiving him.

Just as he turned the corner, however, there was a flash of movement and color and Din found himself thrown back against the wall of the alley, a forearm pressed firmly against his throat and the point of an arrow pressed into his cowl like a knife, the tip coming just shy of nicking his bobbing throat. Din instinctively reached for his blaster, almost moving to throw the man off him before recognition quickly set in and he sagged against the wall, staring breathlessly at his assailant.

_“Cobb?”_

The marshal’s eyes were wild as he watched Din carefully, his gaze flickering over the dark visor as his shoulders heaved from ragged breaths, his hair plastered to his brow with sweat. The red cloth was lowered from his face and hung in its usual place around his neck, revealing his familiar features flushed from exertion. 

“Are you hunting me or helping me?” Cobb asked between breaths, worry leaching into his expression as he looked over the impassive expanse of the Mandalorian’s helmet in search of an answer.

Din spread his arms slowly, keeping his hands out to the side so Cobb could see them, swallowing nervously as he looked down at the arrowtip, then back up at Cobb’s face, tiredly drinking in the soothing familiarity of his weathered features. “I shot to miss.”

“So did I, partner,” Cobb replied deftly, digging the point of the arrow deeper into Din’s cowl.

Of course. Seeing him beside Rivian’s people likely did little to increase Cobb’s trust in him. The wariness was understandable. 

There was hope there too, a weary plea in his bright eyes. They’d never been this close before, but Din could now see a ring of clear blue around his hazel irises that shone like the halo of a star. It was a breathtaking revelation and for a brief moment he struggled to latch onto any form of rational thought, his gaze fixed on those mesmerizing stars looking back at him.

 _Mesmerizing._ Maybe he really was concussed.

“I’m on your side,” Din said softly, surprised by the desperation tinging his own voice. He wanted Cobb to believe him. _Needed_ him to. “I swear.”

The effect was instantaneous. Cobb lowered the arrow and his shoulders sagged as he exhaled the breath he’d been holding, his eyes sliding shut as he drew in a sigh of relief, placing a gentle hand on Din’s pauldron to steady himself. “Good. Then let’s go.”

For a scarce moment, the world narrowed down to that point of contact between them, grounding him. Din barely realized his hand had fallen away before Cobb stepped back, stowing the arrow back in its quiver and watching the other man expectantly, waiting for him to join him.

“You- you knew it was me.” Din finally managed to say, unable to keep the surprise from his tone. Saying it out loud sent another wave of relief through his system and it was then that he realized how worried he’d been that the marshal might not have thought it was him, mistaking him for someone else, some other bounty hunter.

Someone other than a friend.

Life on the run seemed to have been kind to Cobb, at least physically. He didn’t seem outwardly injured and seemed in relative good health, his skin tanned a shade deeper like he’d been without shelter in the desert for periods at a time. 

He was still the same. The same man Din had left in Mos Pelgo all that time ago.

“Of course I did,” Cobb’s eyes were gentle when he smiled, shining brilliantly even in the dim light of the alley. “I’d know you anywhere.”

Whatever answer Din was expecting, it wasn’t that. Still, he huffed out a laugh, managing a smile that Cobb couldn’t even see. “Looks like our paths did cross again.”

“Looks like it,” Cobb grinned, holding out a hand for Din to take and grasping onto it tightly, pulling him away from the wall and back onto his feet. Calloused fingers wrapped around his gloved hand and held on for a moment longer as the marshal looked him over, taking in the sight of him once again, his smile only growing with what he saw. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Din squeezed his hand briefly before they fell away. It wasn’t the reunion he imagined, but it wasn’t like anything in his life went to plan even on the best of days. This was good enough.

Voice sounded on the street and Cobb was on alert, quickly glancing around the corner before turning back to Din. He shrugged his rifle off his shoulders and took a round from the ammunition pocket on his belt, loading it into the weapon as quick as he could.

“All right, partner, now we really do need to leave,” Cobb’s voice was steady, but there was a vein of anxiety running through it as he looked at him. “Are you coming with me?”

There were thousands of languages in the galaxy. Millions of words.

But there was only one right answer. 

“Lead the way,” Din said. 

Cobb flashed him a grin and Din found himself smiling in return.

They turned and ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Hunter and Prey
> 
> Cobb Vanth gets a bow and arrow because our bi rights, you’re welcome :) I had some concept art I was working on for his new look that I have here so I'll try and get that polished up and linked in the notes of the next chapter when I get that up.  
> A HUGE thank you to everyone who's read this fic so far, things are just starting out and I hope you'll stick around for this hectic ride- if anything because it looks like we'll be twiddling our thumbs until new Star Wars content drops lol.  
> God, this was an interesting chapter to write. I know a lot of it is exposition and details and probably a bit confusing, but I promise explanations are coming in the next chapter, Din and Cobb just need to get somewhere they can catch a break and talk. Also, in terms of length, I think this fic is probably looking at something close to 10 chapters? Maybe more? We'll see where things go. Updates should be fairly frequent, I'm hoping at least a few times a week with good conditions but that might change when the next semester starts


	3. Hunter and Prey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve you in this one.”  
> “Something good, I expect. I don’t think much has changed there.” 
> 
> Din learns of the fate that has befallen Mos Pelgo and Cobb discovers a few startling truths about his own allies. After a brief moment of calm, a betrayal and surprise attack send everything spiraling out of their control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for mentions of past and current slavery (Tatooine), depictions of drugs (spice) and allergic reaction, very minor character death, and blood/injuries. Just trying to cover my bases here for you guys

The temperature began to fall rapidly as the suns continued their descent, the sky taking on the darker tones of dusk and leaving the air significantly cooler in its wake. It wasn’t much in the way of consolation, but it was enough to make the exertion a fraction more bearable.

Din lost track of how long they’d been running, and he suspected Cobb had as well. Every so often they would slow down to catch their breath, but only for a handful of seconds at a time. If it were anyone else, he might have suspected that the marshal was trying to shake him off his tail, but whenever they stopped Cobb would look over at him and wait for a nod before starting off again, making sure he was good to go. His bruised ribs ached with each heave of his chest and the muscles in his legs burned like they were being pulled apart and cramped together at the same time, but in spite of his discomfort, Din nodded each time.

And so it went. 

Run. Rest. Repeat. 

It only took a few more streets before he felt his adrenaline beginning to crash, leaving him lightheaded and breathless as he stumbled forward into the near darkness after Cobb, keeping sight of him only by the faint lights shining from doorways and the flickering of streetlamps long overdo for replacement, resurrected time and time again with patchwork poles and cracked bulbs harvested from some poor soul’s unattended speeder. 

Resurrection did not always equate to rejuvenation.

He knew that better than anyone.

The marshal began to slow ahead of him and Din felt grateful for the reprieve, shoulders sagging as he reduced his pace to a walk and followed the man over to the wall of the nearest building, bracing his hand against the cool stone as he caught his breath with some difficulty. Cobb, however, was much less graceful, long legs buckling uneasily as he fell back against the side of the building. He tipped his head skyward, drawing in wheezing breaths as he used his red neckerchief to wipe away the persistent sheen of sweat soaking his brow. 

“Just- just give me a second,” Cobb rasped, dragging the cloth across his flushed face and splaying a hand across his chest as if testing the frenetic thrumming of his own racing heart.

Din exhaled and let his head fall forward, the front of his helmet just barely skimming the wall. If only it were so easy for him. His flight suit beneath his armour was becoming increasingly uncomfortable from the perspiration it had accumulated and it was all he could do not to tear off his helmet and suck in greedy gasps of cool air. Sweat was rolling down his face in rivulets, catching at the edge of his jaw, trapped by the beskar covering. Still, he managed to maintain some semblance of self control and resisted the impulsive urge, lest it become too much of a habit. 

He looked over at Cobb who had closed his eyes now, his breathing much less labored than it was moments ago. They’d never stopped this long before, but if Cobb was feeling as half as bad as Din, he wasn’t in any shape to keep going at the same pace they maintained up until then. Looking around, if he had to guess, they had managed to clear a considerable distance from Rivian’s tower- possibly half of the city. The stone streets had given way to more familiar sandy stretches a long time ago, leaving them to weave hectic patterns around blocks of identical looking buildings while running on ground with significantly less traction. The one comfort was knowing that if their pursuers had any idea where they were going, they would have caught up to them on speeders a long time ago.

It should have surprised Din, how simple the decision was to flee with Cobb, but it didn’t. All it took was one look at the man for him to know that he wasn’t walking away from whatever fight he’d stumbled into. Something told him he was needed. 

Or perhaps he just hoped he was.

Still, it felt all too easy, walking back into Cobb’s life. Somehow it was like no time had passed at all.

But time  _ had  _ passed. And it left damage in its wake. 

Din could only pray it was reparable.

Cobb groaned and peeled himself away from the wall, stretching his back and wincing at the slight crackling sounds that resulted. “They won’t pay the bounty, you know. They’ll want to track you to me, then eventually kill us both.”

Well, that was sudden. In all the time they spent running, Cobb hadn’t spoken more than a few words at a time, not wanting to waste precious seconds and breath as they fled from Rivian’s guards. As pessimistic as his words were now, Din had to admit it was more welcome than the silence. 

“I figured as much,” he agreed, pushing off from the side of the building and standing straighter, preparing to get moving again. “There’s quite a price on your head, marshal.”

That drew a slight chuckle from Cobb and he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, grinning somewhat tiredly at Din. The weak light above them cast shadows across his face, but even in the dark his smile was visible, shining bright. “Whatever it is, it’s not even close to a fraction of what I’m worth. Not with what I’ve got up my sleeve.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked, matching Cobb’s stride alongside him as they began heading down the street. The arrows in his half empty quiver knocked against each other as he walked, the light sound coming off much louder in the silence of the empty street.

There was a sudden commotion behind them and Din whirled around, hand instinctively reaching for his blaster, only to see three small children giggling and sprinting out from an alleyway, vanishing into an open doorway as their mother called them in for the evening. He forced himself to let out a slow breath, soon realizing how quickly his pulse had ratcheted up in those few moments.

“My insurance policy,” Cobb smiled wryly, continuing on as if his knuckles weren’t going white from their tightened grip around the bow. He cast a wary look back behind them before turning his eyes forward, posture relaxing slightly. “I have something Rivian’s people want. They won’t kill me until it’s in their hands, and I’ve been good at keeping it hidden.”

It was an answer, but it wasn’t enough. Ten different questions raced through his mind, but he somehow found the one that tied them all.

“Cobb,” Din grabbed his arm, stilling him and staring firmly through the visor. “What’s going on here?”

For a moment, it looked like Cobb might actually tell him. The marshal’s gaze traveled over the expressionless helmet as if enough searching would finally reveal the man beneath, eventually coming to a rest and somehow meeting Din’s eyes- eyes that he had no way of seeing. The visor gave people a good idea of where to look, but Cobb did it like he just  _ knew.  _ Like he wasn’t just looking at the visor, but through it. 

An impossible thought. 

There was a weariness on his face that seemed to spread through his body like a sickness, his head sagging forward and his shoulders slumping like the infrastructure of a building on the verge of collapse. Din almost tightened his grip on his arm, fearing the inevitability of that fall if he were to let go for even a second. 

Cobb eventually sighed in resignation, rubbing at his brow like he had a headache. “Let’s get somewhere safe, then we can talk.”

———

Somewhere safe turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall cantina a few streets over that looked like it hadn’t seen better days since before the fall of the Old Republic. The sand shutters on the windows were eaten through with rust and the ones still intact were smeared with various colors of smudged paints from unsuccessful attempts to scrub away the persistent graffiti that sought to defile them. It looked like someone had made an effort to make the establishment more appealing and designed a rather simplistic mural depicting the binary suns over a shining city that looked like what an idealistic Mos Eisley dreamed itself to be.

The area looked familiar much more now and Din supposed they weren’t very far from the city center, no more than a handful of streets from Peli’s hangars. Despite everything, it was the first time he felt at ease since before leaving the mechanic’s garage.

He followed Cobb through the narrow doorway, immediately surveying the sparsely populated cantina for any potential threats, unsure of exactly what he was looking for but making certain all the same. There were only three patrons sitting together at the table nearest the door and the bartender was keeping himself busy cleaning glasses, hardly even glancing up at the two newcomers except to send a polite nod in Cobb’s direction. 

No droids. No hunters. Nothing imminently concerning.

It was… unusual. For the briefest moment, Din was reminded of the small bar in Mos Pelgo, neat, quiet, and innocent, just like this one. No carbon scoring from misplaced blaster fire or dark spots on the ground from halfhearted attempts to mop away evidence of the most recent petty feud that ended in bloodshed. Just pale stone and old, half decaying wooden furniture held together with a few well placed screws and a decent dose of hope. Lumber imports from forested planets were scarce, expensive, and- if he had to guess- was in no small part controlled by the likes of Caia Rivian’s Red Star collective, if their reach was anything like she described. 

There was an expression Tatooine that Din had heard a handful of times, that rising sands lifted all landspeeders, but it always sounded like a bad joke, and he was almost certain it was one now. Not one thing about this place gave the slightest indication of an influx of wealth in the city. It was as inconspicuous as they came. The emptiness felt calming. Serene.

Ordinary.

“Why here?” Din asked, keeping his voice low as if raising it would suddenly incite all hell to break loose. The room was quiet aside from the clinking of glasses and the casual conversation in Bocce from the other patrons, and if they were lucky at all it would stay that way, at least for a short while.

With a heavy sigh, Cobb removed his weapons and propped them against the side of the booth in the back corner nearest the other door, taking a seat and indicating Din do the same. “There’s something I need. That insurance policy- it’s a datastick. I hid it with a spice runner who deals on this side of town. This is her favorite watering hole, the only reason this place can keep its lights on is because she gives the owners a pretty generous cut for letting her keep her shipments in the alley ‘round back.”

“Interesting friend you’ve got there,” Din said with a note of apprehension in his voice, setting his weapons aside and sitting across from Cobb in the small alcove. 

“Desperate times,” Cobb shrugged lightly, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “Sometimes you gotta work with people you don’t want to drink with.”

He understood that all too well. Considering all of the people he considered acquaintances over the years, a spice runner with a soft spot for small, run down cantinas was hardly a blip on the radar. Din was certainly in no position to pass judgement there.

“Speakin’ of drinks, I’ll go get us somethin’,” Cobb clapped his hands together and got to his feet, heading for the bar.

Din blinked, floundering for a moment. “I don’t dr-”

“I figured you didn’t, seeing as you never did touch that spotchka back then,” Cobb smiled wryly, pulling a small pouch of credits from his pocket and counting a few out in his hand. “There’s not much on tap here anyway so I’ll be back with two waters, sound good?”

“I- yes,” Din swallowed as if finally realizing just how parched he was from all of their running. He couldn’t even remember the last time he drank water or even put anything in his stomach- probably some time before he fell asleep on the Gauntlet- and his head was beginning to pound, voicing its dissent along with his body. 

Rivian’s flippant offer of Corellian whiskey seemed like half an age ago, but it stood in stark contrast to Cobb’s easy acceptance of his avoidance of alcohol. Din lost track of the times Greef Karga offered to buy him a drink back during his more formative Guild days, almost like he was waiting for the one time that Din would finally buckle and say yes, sating his own curiosity. Eventually, he gave up on the efforts, conceding to the Mandalorian’s so-called ‘spotchka-proof asceticism.’ 

Right. Because aversion to alcohol made him an ascetic. 

Din sighed and settled back into the booth’s seat, resting his head back against the wall and keeping an eye on Cobb. After their running through the city even the thinly cushioned stone seat managed to seem comfortable, finally allowing him to get off his feet forever however short or long a period it ended up being.

A few paces away, Cobb leaned over the bar counter, smiling kindly at the man behind it. “Hey there, Shota, slow night?”

The bartender snorted and set down the glass he was cleaning, slinging the fraying towel over his shoulder. “Slower’n a bantha on a hot day. Whatcha need, friend?”

“You mind telling Mo’na See that Hal Verso’s here to see her? Let her know it’s urgent, she’ll know why I’m here.”

“Sure thing,” Shota nodded, holding up the clean glass. “Can I get you or your friend anything first?”

“Two glasses of whatever it is that passes for water around these parts,” Cobb grinned and Din huffed out a breathy laugh.

Shota let out a low chuckle, reaching for another glass and pulling down the right nozzle from above him, filling them with cloudy water. “You and your smart mouth are in luck, Haskell just brought over this new barrel of water earlier, should be fresh as rain.”

Watching the conversation play out felt strange to Din as he saw how casually the two spoke. Small talk always seemed like something for other people, an asset he never seemed to be able to acquire in all his years. In theory, it was the same as anything. Just questions and answers, but with arguably much less purpose. 

Cobb, however, seemed to excel at it. “What, Haskell out by Anchorhead? How’s she doing these days?”

“Back’s playin’ up, but she said she had a good season so can’t complain much.”

“Glad to hear it,” Cobb sounded genuinely sincere and he passed Shota the credits, gathering up the glasses and heading back to the booth. 

The bartender looked over the credits and let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head as he brushed them into a small tin with his hand. “You keep overpayin’, Hal.”

“I don’t see you complaining, do I?” Cobb called over his shoulder, grinning widely at Din like he was a co-conspirator in this and passing him his glass of water.

Another chuckle from Shota. “Whatever. I’ll get Mo’na for you.”

Cobb gave the man a nod and sat back down with a small groan, reaching a hand back to massage at his neck and wincing as he reached for his own glass.

Din felt a small jolt of concern and froze, suddenly tensing. “Are you hurt?”

“What?” Cobb blinked, surprised for a moment before realizing what Din was asking about and he shook his head, laughing lightly and letting his hand fall back to the table. “Nah, I’m just not as young as I used to be, that’s all. Curse that hits the best of us in time.”

_ I know what you mean.  _ Din felt a smile tug at his lips and he tapped the side of his glass with his gloved hands, drawing it closer and staring down at it quietly while Cobb drank.

The marshal set his glass down after draining nearly half of it and looked at Din, his eyes softening as he nodded his head toward a dull curtain behind the bar. “I didn’t forget about your rule, partner. Shota’s got a small storeroom back there behind the curtain, I’ll make sure no one goes in.”

Din closed his eyes and pressed his mouth firmly shut, not trusting himself to speak as an unfamiliar emotion caused a strange twinge in his chest. He wasn’t used to this kind of decency. Not in the slightest. 

_ Cobb remembered. _ After all that time, he remembered. The fact that he even took it into consideration was a gesture that held no measure of value yet somehow meant everything. 

“No,” Din found himself finally saying, giving the slightest shake of his head as he closed a hand around the glass. “It’s… fine.”

It was only a glass of water. Innocent, docile, and completely nerve wracking. The thought of drinking it sent his stomach plummeting deeper than a sarlacc pit. 

Because drinking meant lifting his helmet up. 

He’d resolved to doing it the moment he even accepted the drink, but thinking it and doing it were only connected by the thinnest of threads. Bo-Katan permitted the continuation of his ritual of eating and drinking in solitude, but there had been judgement in her eyes each time he left her and Koska to go to his own quarters or turned his back to them to take a draw from the canteen during drills. Taking his helmet off was…new. Lifting it casually was even newer. It was an awkward process of starts and stops, like a young one learning to walk or an untrained eye picking up a blaster for the first time. 

New wasn’t always bad. Din was learning that now. 

_ Besides, it’s only Cobb.  _

Before he could overthink things any further, Din drew in a breath and reached up with his free hand, lifting the helmet back just enough to drink. The cool air felt nice against his jaw, soothing his too warm skin, and even the tepid water was a comfort to his parched throat. Every nerve in his body was hyper aware of the small exposure from pulling the helmet up and he found himself finishing the glass off as quickly as he could so he wouldn’t have to keep it that way any longer. 

It was only when Din set his glass down that he realized Cobb had kept his gaze respectfully averted the entire time, head bowed slightly as he stared down at the table, tracing his finger along the grains in the wood. 

For a foolish moment, he wished Cobb’s constant chivalry could have buckled for just a few seconds. Just enough for him to catch a brief glimpse of Din’s face. 

The thought was gone as soon as it came.

Din lowered his helmet back into place and Cobb finally looked up, smiling as if nothing had changed at all. “Where’s your kid? You two were inseparable, last I remember.”

_ Inseparable. _ A label that had been put to the test, and failed. 

“He’s safe.” It was the only answer Din could manage without becoming overwhelmed, and if he said those two words enough times he just might convince himself they were true. 

“Good.” Cobb looked relieved, nodding slightly. “That’s good.”

Din shifted his gaze down to the table, desperate to change the subject. “What’s on the datastick?”

Cobb looked over his shoulder at the three patrons, then turned back, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you, but not here. Too many prying ears. I gave it to Mo’na because she’s a moving target. It’s the best way to keep something important hidden.”

“Taking your own advice?” Din asked wryly, and Cobb snorted, laughing. 

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“Hal Verso,” Din raised an eyebrow. “Quite an alias.”

“Oh, Hal Verso’s real all right. Dead and gone, sure, but real all the same,” Cobb picked absently at a loose thread on his fingerless gloves, the smile on his face reduced to a near imperceptible curve at the corner of his mouth. “If they know my name they’ve got my chain code, and I can’t have that happening on top of everything.”

“So you took a dead man’s name.”

“Not exactly,” Cobb said vaguely, but before Din could even try to get him to elaborate he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. “So, what are you doing back here on Tatooine?”

“What I’m  _ doing _ is getting you off this planet,” Din’s voice was quietly firm as he glanced around the cantina, his attention drawn to the returning bartender before he looked back at Cobb. “I have a ship in the hangar-”

“Whoa, whoa,” Cobb’s eyes widened a fraction as his brow furrowed and he waved his hands in a negating motion, cutting him off immediately. “I’m not going anywhere, partner. I appreciate the gesture, but there are things I gotta put right.”

“What  _ things?” _ Din hissed, trying to remain patient in the face of Cobb’s vague half-answers. “Rivian said you killed thirteen people.” 

Cobb closed his eyes and exhaled lightly, shaking his head. “I’ve killed more than that now. I’m not proud of it, but I did what I had to.”

“Tell me what happened,” the demand sounded much more like a plea, but Din couldn’t find it within himself to care. He couldn’t move forward like this, couldn’t keep following Cobb around without answers, fueled only by the memories of past allegiance and trust. 

The enemy had a face, a name, but it felt hollow- hollow like a mask without any substance behind it. Until it took form, until he knew what was going on, any fight was going to feel like striking at shadows. Din couldn’t help if he had nothing to go on. 

There was a pause before Cobb finally spoke, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest as he looked at Din. His eyes were gentle, almost curious. “Do you know who Caia Rivian is?”

Din gave the barest of nods. “The head of the Red Star collective.”

“Collective,” Cobb scoffed darkly, shaking his head with disgust. “They’re a crime syndicate like any other, they just go through the trouble of pretending they aren’t. You’d never guess it, but Caia Rivian’s the worst of them all. Too much of her father’s blood in her.”

“I met her.” Din said evenly, recalling the sharp eyes that seemed to pick him apart like vulture droids set upon a ship. “She seems… dangerous.”

“You’re right to think that. I’ve seen the things she can do first hand, the things she can order others to do for her. The things she does for greed.” The marshal rubbed his brow tiredly, and for a moment all Din could see was his exhaustion before he continued. “Mining dried up on Tatooine a long time ago, but in the past few years things have been changing. New deposits of delirium and sylicax are showing up everywhere. It’s the new technology they’re using, finding what they couldn’t before. Things are changing around here, and people are noticing. The wrong sort of people. People like Red Star.”

He fell silent after that and looked around the room, almost like he was searching for something that would give him a reprieve from his thoughts, grant him pardon from having this conversation. Glasses clinked across the cantina and the lights of a passing speeder illuminated the open doorway for a brief moment, vanishing down the street. Din knew when to pry and when to be quiet, so he pressed his mouth shut and watched Cobb patiently, giving him the space to tell his story. 

There was something wounded in his eyes when his gaze returned to Din, something raw and painful smothering the light of those stars and clouding them with a weariness that seemed much too familiar to be coming from someone else.

Din saw that every time he looked in the mirror. An exhausted misery that a thousand years of sleep couldn’t cure. 

Hopelessness.

“They took Mos Pelgo,” Cobb said quietly, his broken voice barely audible. “And everyone in it.”

The marshal raised his glass with a hand that Din now realized was shaking slightly. As if coming to that same revelation, Cobb gave up and set it back down, dragging his hands across his face and taking a deep, steadying breath. 

“I was out on patrol when it happened,” he cleared his throat, unable to meet Din’s eyes- visor- as he stared down at the table with no intention of turning away any time soon. “Came back to find the town surrounded and under siege. The last time a mining syndicate took over Mos Pelgo it happened overnight. But this-” Cobb’s hands curled into fists and he looked like he wanted to hit something, but he managed to uncurl them and tuck them under his arms. “-this took  _ minutes.  _ It wasn’t just a few men with helmets and blasters, it was like a damn army moved in. Townsfolk must have seen them coming but thought they were just passin’ over. I counted two transport ships already in town and I could see juggernauts rolling in on the horizon.”

Din had to force himself to remember how to breathe, struck frozen by his words. There was no way to describe the dread that seized his throat and cast a frigid chill through his veins, robbing him of speech and leaving him able to do little other than stare. He wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing. Nothing but shock. 

_ ‘Recently, we obtained an asset that could prove invaluable to our operations on Tatooine,’  _ Caia Rivian had said. _ ‘A certain man disagreed with our methods and, well, negotiations did not go as planned.’ _

_ Asset. An entire village of people was an ‘asset’ to her.  _

It made Din feel sick beyond belief.

Cobb squeezed his eyes shut and drew in another breath as he went on. “It was all so quick. I did what I could, managed to take out a few of the soldiers from a distance, but my blaster jammed. I had no choice. I ran. Hid out with the Sand People for a bit, they gave me shelter, supplies,” he gestured at his bow and the cycler rifle, smiling wanly as he touched the curved weapon, drawing Din’s attention to it. “Carved from krayt bone. One of the ribs, I think. Same as the arrows.”

No wonder Din had thought it was bone when he first saw it. The Tuskens must have harvested everything they could from the dragon’s carcass, left nothing to waste. There was no doubt as to the quality of the craftsmanship, it truly was a beautiful weapon, carved with great care and intent. The bow’s grip looked like some kind of hide, but as he looked closer, Din could make out the faint pattern of scales. The taut string was likely made from tendon or gut, perhaps, thinned out and chemically treated to ensure its stiff elasticity. A weapon like that was hard to come by, natural and untainted by metal and mechanisms and pulses of blaster fire that he’d seen come from the crossbows favored by some bounty hunters. 

“I went back to Mos Pelgo that night to try and catch the invaders off guard, but they set up sensors around the town. No one gets in or out without them knowing and I almost got caught when I tried. Blaster fire got the side of my leg, took me off my feet for a few days.” Cobb continued, taking a small sip of water and dragging the back of his glove over his mouth. His eyes were tight, like the drink had done nothing to wash away the foul taste of his words. “The Sand People took good care of me, though. Got me up and running again. I had to go all the way to Mos Espa to find someone who could tell me what the hell was going on. Heavy equipment like that has to come from somewhere and I tracked it down to the port where they gave me Rivian’s name. That was when I found out about Red Star.”

“And because you couldn’t free the townspeople…” Din started, and Cobb nodded, sensing where he was going.

“For someone as possessive as Rivian, her refineries aren’t nearly as protected as a slave camp. I’ve been hittin’ some of their facilities pretty hard, doing what I can to rattle them and steal their hardware, but it takes a while to plan the perfect final attack,” Cobb finally looked up at him, something bright working its way into his face, a flicker of light behind his eyes. Hope. Fragile hope, as feeble as a flame in a sandstorm. “I only get one shot at this. I’m all they’ve got.”

That wasn’t hard to imagine. Cobb had single handedly freed his own people from oppression once before, protected by Boba Fett’s salvaged armour and blaster, and he no doubt held that same responsibility close to heart even now. Even when he was only armed with a bow and arrow, a cycler rifle, and whatever charges he’d managed to steal from the mining refineries. Weapons came and went, but one thing that remained consistent was his resilience, his commitment to protecting the people he cared about. 

His bravery. 

Only this time, it wasn’t enough. 

“What about the Tuskens?” Din looked pointedly at the krayt bone weapon. “You said they helped you.”

Cobb sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, clenching his fingers around the grey strands for a moment before releasing them. “They’ve done enough. Each time I hit a facility I stole a few camtonos of whatever I could grab and gave them to the Sand People. They don’t care much for currency in their culture, but they understand debt. Plus, it’s useful for them if they want to trade for supplies with the jawas or in town.”

“That’s kind of you,” he said gently, continually surprised by the marshal’s consideration.

“It’s the least I can do in return.” Cobb shrugged absently like it was the obvious thing to be done. “They’re good folks. I won’t let them get killed on my account. I can’t ask that of them after all they’ve done.”

“Maybe I can help,” Din offered earnestly, leaning toward him. “I’m friends with a marshal of the New Republic, I can contact her-”

But Cobb was already shaking his head. “The second the New Republic gets involved, my people are gone. Rivians are good at making people disappear. Believe me, I know.”

_ Rivians.  _ Din thought back to the comment Cobb made about Caia’s father, wondering what the story was there, but he didn’t get a chance to ask as the marshal went on.

“It’s easy enough to rig a mine collapse and bury any evidence of their crimes. It’s how I got this,” Cobb traced a finger over the jagged scar on his temple, smiling grimly. Another question. Another story for another time. “I was supposed to die a long, long time ago, partner. Just like all of her kind, Caia Rivian is a black hole. Consume and destroy, that’s all she knows how to do.”

There was an intensity in Cobb’s voice, a rekindled anger as the flame behind his eyes grew brighter, those strangely celestial irises shining as he looked at the man across from him like he meant to convey every single buried emotion in that singular gaze. 

Earlier, Din thought they looked like stars. But now- 

Now they were lightning. A crackling storm of ozone and a swirling torrent of hazel, blues and greys, righteous fury bottled down and barely contained in those eyes of his. 

“She took everything from them- my people. From me. So I’m taking everything she has and lighting a fire under it so big you’d see the flames from the end of the Unknown Regions.” Cobb’s hands began to shake from how hard he was clenching them and he forced himself to breathe, relaxing himself and coming down from the sudden burst of anger. “I’ve been hiding out in Mos Eisley for the past two weeks and when I heard she was coming in yesterday to search for bounty hunters I started planning my attack. I was going to try and kill her tonight, but then I saw you. And the plan changed.” 

That was when the storm calmed. 

_ ‘I saw you. And the plan changed.’ _

Cobb said it with a slight reverence in his voice, like Din’s appearance was nothing less than a miracle falling from the sky. The gentleness was so far from the flickers of rage that escaped into his tone only moments before, completely transformed as he looked at the man before him.

“I mean what I said before,” Cobb’s words were quieter now, and the tiredness seeped back into his form, easing him away from the precipice of his anger. There was an unfamiliar vulnerability in his weary eyes and Din couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done or the lives I’ve taken, but everything I do, I do for my people. For their safety, their futures. If I don’t do this, they’ll never be free, and I- I can’t let that stand. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they see the suns rise over a free town again, and if it means poisoning a bit of my soul then so be it. I’ll go to hell for my sins knowing I did the right thing for the people I care about.”

A warm surge of emotion blossomed in Din’s chest and he watched as the marshal went silent, like the effort of telling his story had sapped whatever remaining energy he had left in him. Not for the first time, he was struck by the immense goodness of Cobb Vanth. His capability for kindness, for compassion and selflessness, seemed to be a well that had no possibility of running dry, even under the most scorching oppression. He wasn’t without his flaws, no living thing was, but his sheer decency was enough to make up for it. Even his vengeance was backed with the best of intentions for the people of Mos Pelgo. 

There weren’t many that would do what he did. Maybe a handful in the entire galaxy. 

Din thought of the plight of Mandalore, the sacred mission Bo-Katan sought to carry out with him at her side. He thought of Cobb’s struggle. The revival of a broken planet from the ashes left by the Empire. The recovery of Mos Pelgo from a powerful crime syndicate. In a way, they weren’t so different.

Except, no, they  _ were  _ different. 

Because Cobb was standing his ground. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he was still there. He was fighting. 

And Din had run away. 

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. Cobb was ten times the man that Din could even hope to be without even trying. 

He wouldn’t run this time.

“These weapons won’t jam,” the marshal broke the silence, bringing the bow and rifle onto the table in front of them with a confident smile that was brimming with hope. “When the time comes, I won’t fail. Red Star may be hunting me, but I’m hunting Rivian. We’ve been taking turns playing at hunter and prey, and I’d say we’re nearing even.”

In spite of everything, Din let out a small chuckle.

Cobb raised an eyebrow, his smile growing. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just- hunter and prey,” Din felt his lips curl into a wry smile, returning Cobb’s own. “It’s very Mandalorian.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Cobb grinned, raising his glass in a small toast before finally draining the rest of the water. His smile didn’t die out, even as he fixed his eyes on Din. There was a gentle warmth in his expression that seemed to touch somewhere in Din’s chest and take root, blossoming into something reassuring, something pleasant. “I waited for you to come back, you know. Don’t know why I expected you to, but it looks like I wasn’t wrong to hope.” 

Din had no idea how to even begin responding to that. 

All this hope. All this warmth. For a man whose name Cobb didn’t even know.

“You said… your plans changed when you saw me.” Din spoke slowly, careful without knowing why he felt he needed to be. 

Cobb inclined his head in a nod. “That’s right.”

“Is there room in your new plans for an ally?”

There was a beat of silence as Cobb stared back at him, hope and surprise warring for control over his features. “I can’t ask that of you, partner,”

“That’s why  _ I’m _ asking.” Din said firmly, resolute in his decision. 

It seemed impossible, but the marshal’s smile grew even wider and he let out a short laugh, throwing his head back as he looked up at the ceiling in amazement. “You really want in?”

_ I was in since the moment I saw your face on the bounty puck.  _

“Yes.”

Cobb looked back down and shook his head, chuckling lightly. “I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve you in this one.”

“Something good, I expect,” Din said honestly, because he needed to hear it. Because it was true. “I don’t think much has changed there.” 

_ But I don’t know what I did to deserve you. _

Now it was Cobb’s turn to be struck speechless. He looked like he wanted to say something, blinking as he struggled to find the words, but luckily he was spared as the back door of the cantina slid open and a short, blue skinned Twi’lek woman walked in, looking around the room before her eyes settled on the two men and she made her way over in a few quick strides. She didn’t look like a bounty hunter but the blaster on her belt caught Din’s attention immediately and he felt himself tense, expecting her to grab for it.

Instead, the Twi’lek grinned, swatting Cobb’s arm by way of greeting.

“You gonna move over or leave a lady standing, Hal?” 

“Nice to see you too, Mo’na,” Cobb raised an eyebrow, rubbing at his arm, but he moved over in the booth, his own slight form leaving plenty of room for her to sit on the bench beside him. 

Din turned to face her, studying the woman through his visor. So this was the spice runner Cobb had talked about. Mo’na See. Her bare arms were corded with muscle that rippled as she crossed them over her insulated vest, bands of intricate braided leather woven around her lekku and a pair of goggles pushed up over her brow.

“Sorry that took so long, boys, unloading new shipments ain’t an easy job to do solo,” Mo’na hooked a finger around the rim of Cobb’s glass and tipped it over, unimpressed by its emptiness. 

It reminded Din of the little irritating things Xi’an used to do on jobs to rile him up and even Cobb didn’t seem to think much of it, a flicker of annoyance crossing the marshal’s features and he righted the glass, moving it well out of her reach. But her focus had already skipped over to Din now, dark eyes staring at the Mandalorian with blatant interest. “Well, you’re new. Who’s your friend, Verso?”

Cobb opened his mouth like he meant to answer, then he quickly closed it, confusion spreading over his face as he glanced over at Din, realizing for the first time that he had no real way of introducing him.  _ Partner. Friend.  _ Those had always sufficed until now. 

A long time ago, perhaps, Din would have found the situation profoundly amusing, but now he only felt slightly ashamed. Something simple as a name, and he had never even shared that with him.

“I don’t do business with anyone ‘til I get their name, you see.” Mo’na leaned forward toward Din and drummed her hands on the table, grinning. “I collect names, keep ‘em all up here,” and she tapped her forehead as if to accentuate her point. “Truth’s quicker than lyin’, and from what Shota told me you two seem to be in a bit of a rush.”

“Focus, Mo’na, you’re not dealin’ with him, you’re dealin’ with me.” Cobb sounded slightly desperate, casting an apologetic look at Din as he tried to turn her attention away from him, judging his discomfort from the way Din’s shoulders had gone stiff.

“He’s with you,” Mo’na pointed out, reaching over to poke the Mandalorian’s cuirass, and Din resisted the urge to swat her hand away before she pulled it back. “That makes him part of it.”

They were wasting time trying to put off her little game, and it was clear that she was much too persistent to be dissuaded any time soon. Din watched as another speeder passed down the street, the other three patrons finally gathering up their jackets and heading out into the night. It was only them and the bartender left now, and Din was beginning to feel concerned about being stationary for so long. How many more speeders would pass before one of them turned about to be Vallor or one of Rivian’s many soldiers?

The marshal sighed and touched Mo’na’s shoulder lightly, shaking his head. “Leave him be, would you-”

“Din,” he interjected, feeling his neck flush with an uncomfortable warmth as both turned to look at him and he swallowed roughly, meeting Cobb’s eyes. It was easier to direct it at him. “It’s…Din.”

Cobb looked surprised, staring back at him like he hadn’t expected him to divulge it in front of her, and Din held his gaze, unable to look away for some unknown reason. His lips moved silently, and Din thought that maybe- just maybe- he was forming that single syllable, testing it to see how it felt. Familiarizing himself with it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Din saw Mo’na grin, satisfied with his answer. 

“How can you trust her?” Din jerked his head toward the spice runner, quickly changing the subject before they could linger on it any longer. 

Surprisingly, it was Mo’na who answered, beating Cobb to the chase. “I met Hal here a few years back. My ship crashed just outside of his backwater skug hole of a town, I lost my entire shipment to jawas and he came along right as they began working on taking apart my ship.”

“The crash split her cargo open and she got sick off her own supply,” Cobb added and she nodded, verifying his account. “Addiction and withdrawal can set in pretty quickly when exposed to such high quantities and I had to get her through one of the worst spice detoxes I’d ever seen.” 

“In short, he helped fix me up, sent me on my way,” Mo’na shrugged, unzipping the pocket of her vest and pulling out a long necklace chain, holding it up in the light to show the thin cylinder that was clasped to it like an awkward charm. The datastick. “I owe him for that. You don’t see kindness like that on Tatooine. Not for free.”

Cobb held his hand out for the datastick and she lowered it into his open palm, letting the chain pool and spill over his long fingers. He closed his fist over it and glanced at Din, nodding reassuringly and looping the necklace over his own head, tucking it beneath his shirt and adjusting his neckerchief to conceal it. “Thanks, Mo’na.”

“Oh, you really don’t want to be thankin’ me,” Mo’na stood from her seat, smiling coolly as she dipped her hand into he pocket again, this time producing a small comlink that she held to her lips, smiling cooly as she spoke into it. “He’s all yours now. There’s a Mandalorian with him, might want to watch that.”

Din had his blaster trained at her head within the next second, his heart beating rapidly as he cast a sharp glance over to the main entryway of the cantina. Cobb’s eyes were wide with shock and he stood slowly, grabbing his weapons from the table but stopping short of aiming any of them at the spice runner even as she backed away toward the bar. He gave a sharp wave in warning to the bartender who quickly ran out the back door, leaving it wide open in his wake.

“You tipped them off?” The marshal’s voice was fragile with disbelief, and Din couldn’t help but pity him in that moment. For someone so trusting, betrayal must have felt like a vibroblade in the chest.

Mo’na looked at Cobb like he was the biggest fool in the galaxy, and perhaps he did feel like it. She cast her blaster down onto the floor and held her hands up, watching Din’s weapon apprehensively as he stood beside the marshal. “Hell of a reward out for you, Hal. Word spreads fast in a town like this. I said I owed you. That’s why I’m even letting you walk out of here with that datastick. Kindness ain’t free on Tatooine no matter how much you act like it is. You’ve got about thirty seconds, so I suggest you use them.”

“Kindness _ is _ free, Mo’na, but it’s good to know yours has a price,” Cobb spat, his grip tightening on his weapons, but the roughness of his voice did little to mask the wounded look in his eyes. He turned to Din, nodding toward the back door. “Let’s go, partner, we gotta move.”

That was an understatement. Din quickly slipped his rifle back over his shoulder and took the beskar spear in hand, keeping his blaster trained at the spice runner. 

Cobb had barely taken one step away from the table before there was a sudden flash of red light and Mo’na dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap, smoke curling up from the back of her vest as her eyes stared into the distance, unseeing. 

_ Dead. _

The familiar form of Greyson Vallor stood in the main doorway, his blaster still trained on the fallen Twi’lek.

Then, he turned it on Cobb.

“Get down!” Din yelled, shoving the marshal to the side and throwing himself in the way of a blaster shot that would have caught Cobb in the shoulder, the pulse striking harmlessly off the beskar jetpack. 

Instincts taking over, he cast the spear aside and seized the edge of the table, overturning it out of the booth and creating a shield for them to duck behind as another shot rang out, this time striking the table’s metal underplate. 

Some things on Tatooine really were designed with firefights in mind. 

Cobb let out a sharp breath, eyes wide as he flattened his back against the vertical tabletop, legs sprawled out awkwardly before him. “You good, partner?”

He wasn’t even wearing any armour, and he was worried about  _ Din?  _

“Hit me in the beskar,” Din rasped, grimacing as another shot struck the underside of the table. And another. 

The back door wasn’t too far off, but it wasn’t a straight run. If they had any chance of making it, Din would have to be shielding Cobb with his body and counting on Vallor not to think to fire at the back of his unprotected legs. It was risky, but they were low on choices. 

He tightened his grip on his blaster and turned, looking around the side just enough to fire at Vallor who deftly returned the shot, catching his pauldron and sending Din rocking back on his heels. Cobb seized him by the cowl and all but dragged him back behind their makeshift cover, pushing him firmly back against the table.

“No!” Cobb looked almost angry, shaking his head as he hissed at Din and fisted his hand in the fabric around his neck like holding on tight enough would actually convince him to listen. “He’s shooting to kill  _ you,  _ not me!”

_ What?  _ Din grabbed his wrist and pulled it away from his cowl, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “You said they wouldn’t kill you unless they could get the datastick, and you  _ have it!” _

“Mo’na didn’t tell them,” Cobb shook his head again, his voice barely above a whisper as the blaster fire ceased. “She could have just handed it over to them, but she didn’t.”

Din opened his mouth to argue that the dead spice runner hadn’t exactly proven herself to be the most reliable of people, but he couldn’t manage the words. Instead, he let out a frustrated grunt and slammed his fist against the table behind him, his helmet falling back against the thick wood. “We have to make a run for it.”

“You  _ think?” _

There was a single shot and the light above them shattered, small bits of glass raining down as the soft scuffing of boots against the ground came from the doorway. Din instinctively ducked his head, the glass innocently skating off his armour, and Cobb covered his neck with his partially gloved hands, wincing as the shards nicked his fingers.

“I’ll admit I’m surprised at your efficiency, Mandalorian,” Vallor's smooth voice came from behind them, the barest hint of amusement in his tone as he spoke. There was a sharp click and a whir, the sound of his blaster disengaging. “You found Verso before any of us could. Perhaps Rivian was right to have such high faith in your abilities.”

The footsteps continued for a moment, then stopped, and Cobb shut his eyes, lips moving quickly and silently like he was speaking to himself. 

_ “What are you doing?” _ Din hissed, eyes wide as he shook Cobb’s shoulder, trying to jarr him into action.

_ “Tracking him,” _ Cobb whispered back, opening his eyes, this time meeting him with a wry smile. “Six paces from the door, ten paces over my right shoulder. Four o’clock. I reckon he’s within reach of the bar. No need to waste time aiming.”

Din blinked, huffing out a breathless laugh. “That’s… impressive.”

“Now you’re just tryin’ to make me blush.” Cobb grinned, shouldering his rifle and reaching into his quiver, nocking an arrow into the bow with practiced ease. “Keep Vallor talking, I’ll disarm him.”

That shouldn’t be too difficult.

“I don’t know what you hope to achieve with any of this,” Vallor continued, irritation souring his words as he raised his voice, directing it to the both of them. “This foolishness ends now. Hand him over to me before I’m forced to kill you.”

So, Cobb had been right about that.

“I’m walking out of here with Verso!” Din shouted back, reaching for his fallen spear and adjusting his grip on his blaster. “I found him first, the bounty’s mine, Vallor.”

Cobb snorted, arching an eyebrow.  _ “Bounty?”  _

Din sighed.  _ “Just go with it.” _

Even without seeing his face, Din could tell Vallor was sneering. “This isn’t the Guild, Mandalorian. I’m not afraid to fight dirty.”

“Neither am I!” Cobb grit his teeth and drew back the bow’s string, scrambling to his feet and turning in Vallor’s direction, letting the arrow fly.

There was a crisp whistling sound as it sailed through the air, then a pained howl as it struck true and something heavy clattered to the ground. The blaster. Din was on his feet in seconds, casting a quick enough glance at Vallor to see him struggling to pull the blood slick arrow out from the flesh of his bicep, his face tight with undiluted fury.

“Go, go!” Din yelled to Cobb, but he was already running for the back door, clearing the doorway just a few feet ahead of him. 

Just as they burst into the dimly lit alleyway behind the cantina, something heavy slammed into Din from behind, knocking him roughly to the ground, blaster and spear flying from his grip. His abused ribs cried out in agony and Din groaned, not giving himself more than a second to recover as he planted his hands in the sand and pushed himself back up, looking around in time to see Vallor advancing on Cobb who had abandoned his attempt to reach Mo’na’s speeder in favor of drawing an arrow from his quiver and turning on the soldier. 

The marshal was quick to defend himself as Vallor lunged, swiping out with the arrow like a knife and slicing a shallow cut across his cheek, drawing an enraged shout from his attacker. Cobb's fighting was scrappy, born from instinct and impulse, whereas Vallor had the disciplined practice of a soldier, years of training on his side. Even so, the marshal's wiry muscles seemed to be a decent match for Vallor's imposing build, his movements much more fluid as he punched, stabbed, kicked, ducked, doing all he could to keep from being backed into a corner. He struck out at him again but Vallor refused to let him maintain his advantage, red eye ablaze with rage and blood trailing down his face as he seized Cobb’s arm and twisted it brutally behind his back, throwing him headlong into the wall of the alley. Cobb hit the stone with a sharp cry and crumpled to the sand, raising a hand to his temple as he struggled to rise. 

In the weak light from the streetlamp above, the blood looked almost black against his pale brow, but it wasn’t a substantial injury. The marshal would be fine.

But that didn’t stop Din from throwing himself bodily at Vallor, tackling him to the ground near a small stack of crates near the spice runner’s speeder as a sudden burst of hot rage blinded his senses. The air left Vallor’s lungs with a hoarse groan, eyes wide with anger and panic as he fought to breathe, unable to draw in more than a gasp. Taking advantage of his momentary incapacitation, Din landed a deft punch to the arrow wound in the man’s arm, relishing the pained growl that followed and rushing to his feet, searching behind him for his spear that had become half buried in the sand from the scuffle. 

He spotted his blaster closer and seized it, whirling around to aim at Vallor, but the man was already back on his feet with impressive speed, swinging a well placed kick at Din’s hand just as he pulled the trigger and sending the blaster flying, the shot soaring far off the mark and striking the engine of the speeder. Sparks and smoke shot up into the air from the small explosion, and just as Din raised his arm to shoot a column of fire his way, Vallor landed a solid kick to his chest, leaving him unable to breathe as he flew backward and crashed heavily into the stack of spice crates. 

Brittle wood splintered and broke beneath the force of the impact, sending a large plume of reddish dust into the air, and Din barely had time to register the sharp shock of panic as he made the mistake of gasping for air, squeezing his eyes shut against the intense waves of pain lancing across his chest. Each shallow breath drawn into his burning lungs felt like inhaling ash and the cold grasp of fear all but paralyzed him as he realized all too late what he was inhaling. 

_ No. No, no, no, not this. Anything but this. _

_ The spice had gotten inside the helmet.  _

Adrenaline was the only thing that got him moving as Din frantically dragged himself away from the broken crates, landing awkwardly in the sand and drawing in panicked gasps of air as he felt this throat seize, his head spinning viciously as he forced himself to his knees. He hardly noticed the brutal kick that struck the padding over his abdomen, sending him collapsing back down to the ground, barely heard Cobb’s enraged yell and the sound of someone being thrown into the side of the speeder. There was a strange humming sensation that spread throughout Din’s body, elevating to an uncomfortable buzzing as his vision darkened and his head suddenly felt weightless, as if his mind had disconnected from the body that trapped it.

For a single heartbeat, there was something close to bliss. 

And then the crash. 

Within mere seconds, every single molecule in Din’s body was consumed with agony unlike anything he had ever experienced before. There was no way to describe the sensation of his muscles suddenly seizing, throwing his body into a sharp convulsion as he drew in another panicked gasp of poisoned air, nausea slamming into his head with the force of a rockfall. Searing hot tears burned behind his eyes as he forced himself into motion, the sounds of fighting sounded oddly distant behind him, muted by the shrill ringing in his ears. Din only managed to drag himself a few feet away, struggling onto his knees as he tore off his helmet and cast it aside blindly, drawing in heaving gulps of clean, cool air, fighting to clear his lungs of the toxic drug, but it had already done its damage. 

He wasn’t sure how much of the spice made it into his system, but it hardly mattered now. For some people this would be no more than an unpleasant high, but for those who were  _ allergic-  _

Well, it wasn’t going to be good.

If he thought it would be easier to breathe without the helmet, he was only partially correct. Each breath was hard won as Din felt his throat closing up from the reaction, his head buzzing from the lack of oxygen and sending him spiraling into a panic. A sudden chill enveloped him and he doubled forward on his knees, hugging his arms tight around his middle as rivulets of cold sweat poured down his face, plastering his hair to his head and cooling uncomfortably in the night air. 

Out of nowhere, a pair of hands circled his shoulders and Din’s panic only rose and he fought to tear himself away, falling back and striking out blindly with his fists at his assailant only for firm hands to seize his wrists, struggling to keep them still.

“Stop- Din, it’s me!” Cobb’s eyes were wide with shock as he stared down at him, dropping to his knees beside the Mandalorian and releasing his hands. He grabbed Din’s shoulders and hauled him into a sitting position, setting his back against the wall for support and frantically searching for any sign of injury. “What the hell happened to you?”

The relief at seeing Cobb was only temporary as he fought back a shudder, swallowing roughly and breathing through his nose as he tried to contain the chaos that was doing its utmost to tear him apart.

_ He’s seen my face,  _ Din thought dazedly, looking over Cobb’s bloodied features and the red cloth pulled up over his nose and mouth, only the faintest dusting of spice powder on his long jacket, but enough to warrant the precaution.

"Din? Can you hear me?"

_ My name. He said my name,  _ Din realized with a note of surprise.

“Vallor?” he gasped weakly, casting a glance over the marshal’s shoulder in search of the other man, but Cobb shook his head. 

“I got him pretty good. Gut shot. He’s gone, but he can’t have made it far like that.” There was blatant concern in Cobb’s eyes, verging on something close to fear as he looked Din over, clearly distressed by whatever he was seeing. Cobb tore off one of his gloves and pressed a calloused hand to Din’s clammy brow, staring at him worriedly. “Something's wrong, you’re burning up, partner.”

_ Burning up?  _ Din could have laughed if he had the strength to. He felt freezing cold, worse than when he’d been stranded on the ruthless ice planet. 

“Can you stand?”

Din didn’t even have a chance to try before another wave of nausea slammed into him and he pushed away from the wall and fell to the side, curling over his knees as he began retching violently, bile scorching the back of his throat and causing his eyes to burn, tears trailing down his sweat soaked face. There was nothing in his stomach to come up except for the water he’d drank and whatever spice hadn’t gone straight to his lungs, making it an exceptionally painful experience as he continued to hack, and Cobb’s hands found his shoulders again, rubbing soothingly at the back of his neck. 

“S-spice,” Din wheezed, waving a shaking hand vaguely at his chest and throat. “I- I can’t-”

Cobb seemed to understand him immediately, all color draining from his face as he swore violently. “Are you telling me you’re  _ allergic _ to this?” Din nodded weakly and Cobb swore again, grabbing him beneath his arms and hauling him to his feet, propping him against the wall as he quickly gathered up the Mandalorian’s fallen weapons and pushed his discarded helmet into his unsteady hands. “Come on, we’ve gotta get you to a med center-”

“N-no,” Din quickly shook his head, immediately regretting it as everything began to spin and bile burned the back of his throat. “Not s-safe for y-you.”

“Maker above, Din, I don’t care!” Cobb’s voice was high with panic, almost near a shout as he fixed the spear behind the jetpack and grabbed hold of Din’s free arm, slinging it around his shoulders as he pressed a steadying hand to his cuirass. “We get you some help, let’s move-”

Din feebly pulled his arm away, stumbling back into the wall of the alley. If they went to a med center the chances of someone recognizing Cobb’s face would be far too high. Both of them would be recognized instantly, and Mos Pelgo’s fate would be in even more dire straits than before. 

There was no one to trust besides each other.

“You s-said you’ve done thi- this before,” Din rasped, wincing as he felt himself convulse again, doubling over as Cobb took his arm again, supporting him as they began to walk, the marshal half carrying him as they staggered out of the alley. “With Mo’na. Allergic reaction is almost the same as wi-withdrawal.”

A spice runner getting sick from her supply crates bursting around her and a Mandalorian being thrown into a similar shipment couldn’t be too different, at least in theory. With any luck this would only take him off his feet for the night, a day, perhaps, but Din couldn’t help but feel overwhelming guilt permeate the thick fog surrounding his mind. How long would this set back the mission? 

Cobb’s arms around him were surprisingly grounding as he found himself leaning heavily against the other man, his legs suddenly uncooperative as they reached the main street and stopped, Cobb pulling down his neckerchief to cast an exasperated smile at Din that did nothing to dilute the worry on his face. “You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, you know that?”

Din tried to smile in return, but it was little more than a grimace. 

“This is why you don’t drink, isn’t it?” Cobb realized suddenly, looking at him sharply. “Something like this happened before-”

A speeder ran past them on the street and Din closed his eyes, drawing in a wheezing breath. “Not- not the time.”

“Right,” Cobb nodded understandably, letting his hand fall from Din’s chest and reach over to grab his hand that held the helmet, bringing both closer to him. “I’ve got a place we can go, let’s get your helmet on-”

“It got inside the helmet, I c-can’t-” Din made an awful hacking sound as he coughed, and Cobb waited until he caught his breath before releasing his hand, making sure the helmet was secure in his grasp. 

Just like before, Cobb looked to Din, watching him with concern, his expression pained as he looked over the other man’s sickened appearance and waited for his assent. 

Din drew in a labored breath and nodded, leaning into Cobb and letting the marshal grab his other hand, keeping his arm firm around his shoulders, the other careful around his waist as they continued forward.

Hunter and prey staggered wounded into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: In Sickness and in Health
> 
> Okay, seriously, anyone who made it through this chapter deserves a medal of some kind. My chapters are consistently 20 pages at the very least, but this one? yeah this monster is 26 pages long on google docs. How do I do this.  
> I wanted to get this up yesterday but I couldn't get it finished until now so I apologize for that slight delay, and sorry if there's any mechanical errors throughout, I cba to proofread and just hope it turns out for the best.  
> Also, apologies for the angst! It's only going to get worse in the chapter, but I'm really owning up to the hurt/comfort tag so just bear with me through this Din whump, I'm sorry.  
> As promised, I finished the concept art for Cobb's new look and posted it on my tumblr, here's the link to the post: https://endeavourson.tumblr.com/post/639785737059024896/only-took-me-forever-but-heres-the-final-product (I don't know how to do hyperlinks here so just copy-paste it or scroll through the treacherous wasteland of my blog @endeavourson)  
> Finally, thank you to everyone who takes the time to comment or leave kudos, your comments seriously brighten my day and fuel my serotonin so I'm doing what I can to make sure I respond to all of them.


End file.
